


Are You My Mother?

by LittleSixx



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Adoption, Alternate Universe - Parents, Baby Scorpius Malfoy, Cinnamon Roll Scorpius Malfoy, Eventual Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, F/M, Gen, Healer Hermione Granger, Kid Fic, Minor Original Character(s), POV Hermione Granger, Parenthood, Past Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-03-18 05:02:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 40
Words: 148,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13674783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSixx/pseuds/LittleSixx
Summary: Someone leaves a baby on Hermione’s doorstep. She doesn’t know who or why, but something about those grey eyes is too familiar for Hermione to let him go.





	1. June 11th, 2006

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JusticeForYadi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JusticeForYadi/gifts), [tx_ladyj](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tx_ladyj/gifts), [Hobbitsus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hobbitsus/gifts), [Silk_and_Flowers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silk_and_Flowers/gifts), [otterberries](https://archiveofourown.org/users/otterberries/gifts), [magicninjafish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicninjafish/gifts), [RevDorothyL](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RevDorothyL/gifts), [HazelnutLatte](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HazelnutLatte/gifts), [silverbellekait](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverbellekait/gifts), [hoshiakari](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoshiakari/gifts).



> JusticeForYadi requested this AU and I gifted it to some readers of my other Dramione works.

Hermione Granger thought there were books to prepare her for everything.

She was wrong.

Her third anniversary as Healer-in-Charge at St. Mungo’s was a great day. She bought herself a new pair of shoes, then let Ginny and Angelina Johnson get her way too drunk on firewhisky. It was rare that Hermione treated herself to an off-day that consisted of more than catching up on sleep.

When someone knocked on her door at six the next morning, Hermione’s head ached like she had been hit with a dozen jinxes straight to the forehead. When she tried to sit up gravity seemed out for some sort of revenge. She massaged her temples and kicked the blankets off the bed, wishing she only imagined the knocks. She threw a pillow at her bedroom door like that would make the person outside go away.

Another knock and she mumbled a string of unintelligible curse words. Hermione squinted, fumbled her way to the bedroom door, and began the slow, treacherous journey down the stairs, one foot in front of the other, with one hand clutching the handrail. Once Hermione’s fingers hit the handle on her front door she heard the unmistakable crack of Disapparition from the other side. She huffed as she opened the door to see her visitor had, in fact, left. Nothing but the sunrise and dew to meet her, all that early-morning effort gone to waste.

Hermione went to slam the door but stopped short when she spotted a newborn baby in a basket on her welcome mat.

“I’m hallucinating,” she groaned.

Hermione shut the door and rested her head against it before she made for the kitchen. There was a hangover potion somewhere between the vodka and the firewhisky. She took a long sip and sighed as her headache disappeared. Still exhausted from the previous day’s festivities, she made for the stairs but stopped when she heard something crying.

Hermione flung open her front door to see the baby was still there, wailing louder than anyone should be capable of at six o’clock in the morning. Hermione’s eyes went wide and she slammed the door shut again, desperate for it all to be a nightmare. This only frightened the baby on the other side so it cried even louder. Hermione resigned herself to fate and opened the door.

“Shh,” she cooed as she picked up the basket. “Please stop; you’ll wake the neighbors.”

It did not stop.

_I’ll take it to St. Mungo’s. The Healers on the third floor might know what to do with it. They’ll be able to put it in a nice home with a loving family—_

In an instant, Hermione knew she couldn’t do that. She placed the basket on her couch and sighed as the baby paused its caterwauling. She wiped the sticky goop from its eyes and when it looked up she felt her heart fall into her stomach. Those grey eyes were familiar. Nothing fond or friendly, it was something more akin to a challenge. Hermione had seen those eyes before, on more than one face that she couldn’t place, but reasoned it would come to her in time. Its squished face was red but the rest of the baby was very pale. It had white-blond hair and was partially wrapped in a green blanket made of the softest fabric Hermione had ever touched. The baby reached up its makeshift bed with its tiny hands and Hermione tentatively offered a finger. When it grabbed hold, she sighed.

“If I’m not taking you to St. Mungo’s I suppose I’ll keep you until we find your parents. Why would anyone give you up? More importantly, who thought it was a good idea to bring you to me?”

The baby didn’t respond but Hermione kept talking.

“Ronald wanted kids. Funny, I managed to beat him to that, too,” she laughed. “He and Alicia have a baby on the way now, I think. Harry and Ginny don’t talk about him much since we … Well, it’s not for you to worry about.”

An owl knocked on her window and Hermione untied the  _Daily Prophet_ from its leg. She closed the window against the morning chill as the owl flew away and turned back to the baby on her couch. Hermione remembered something about babies Ginny said years earlier.

_Babies need to be wrapped tightly in their blanket. Start with a diamond, then wrap them up like a mummy. They won’t be able to scratch themselves, or you for that matter. Then bounce them up and down a bit and they’ll fall asleep faster than Harry in History of Magic._

As far as Hermione was concerned, swaddling looked like origami. She scooped the baby out of its basket and noticed a small note tucked into the cushion. Holding the child against her shoulder, Hermione pulled out the small piece of parchment. 

_ “Name him after a star. _

_ -Astoria” _

“So you don’t have a name,” Hermione observed, “and you’re a boy. Good to know.”

It took three tries, but Hermione finally managed a decent swaddle. She picked him up, rested his head against her shoulder, and lightly patted his back. In return, he spittled all over her shirtsleeve. She groaned and mumbled a quick _Evanesco_ , but the baby seemed exhausted and soon started softly snoring against her other shoulder. Hermione started bouncing like she’d seen Ginny do with baby James and Albus Severus.

_What the hell am I going to do? I have no idea how to take care of a child and I can’t call Ginny at this hour. There aren’t any books about what to do when a baby ends up on your doorstep!_

She absentmindedly flipped through the  _Daily Prophet_. The front page featured a story about the annual Malfoy donation to St. Mungo’s but Lady Narcissa was the only person in the photo. Lucius Malfoy died years earlier, but where was Draco? It didn’t matter, Hermione had learned it was better not to dwell on thoughts of the Malfoys. She flipped through the pages, skimming over Quidditch scores and the obituaries when one caught her eye. 

“The funeral service for Astoria Greengrass was held on June 10th.”

That was it. No “survived by” or even a gravesite location. Just a cryptic one line mentioning her death like no one was going to miss her. Or that whomever would didn’t want people asking questions.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” Hermione whispered to the baby asleep against her shoulder. “It looks like you’re here because your mother is gone. I just wonder … Who is your father?”

But there was something undeniably familiar about him, and if he was Astoria Greengrass’s child he came from money. Something must have gone terribly wrong for this child to end up at Hermione’s door. If she took him to St. Mungo’s she would never find out why he felt so familiar. Something, some unknown force tugged on her heartstrings. She tucked the baby beneath her chin and whispered, “Don’t be scared,” as she Apparated to a familiar little house on the outskirts of London.

There was only one place to go at six o’clock on a Sunday morning with a newfound baby in her arms. He stayed asleep through the travel, a small miracle on its own, and Hermione prayed for another. She knocked on the door and held her breath, unsure what to expect. Hermione hadn’t visited in three years, so the woman who opened the door was understandably surprised to see her. Hermione put on her bravest smile and said,

“Hi, Mum.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 8/1/18: Minor edits made. No significant alterations.


	2. What's In a Name?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione picks a name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 8/1/2018: Minor edits made. The original beginning of Chapter 3 was cut and added to the end of this chapter and the final line was added as a newly-written addition.

Hermione expected her mother to be angry. Shocked, confused, resentful, even; but Abigail Granger just smiled softly. That sappy, grateful smile all mothers seem to get when they haven’t seen their child in far too long. Hermione saw her own eyes looking back at her and wondered if this baby had his father’s eyes, too. Her mother’s expression shifted to concern moments later as she asked,

“Is that a baby?!”

Hermione grimaced.

“It’s a long story.”

“You never told us you were pregnant!” Mrs. Granger whisper-shouted. She ushered Hermione inside but did not stop her muttered barrage. Hermione nearly tripped over her father’s telescope as she insisted,

“I wasn’t!”

“That’s the kind of thing you tell your parents, Hermione!”

“But I—“

“Even if you don’t visit, you’re still supposed to tell us! We wouldn’t have judged you for sleeping around. You’re an attractive young witch who saved the world. I’d be more concerned if you weren’t, you always were single-minded. You were probably spending all your time at work weren’t you? Is the father a doctor, or, no, what do they call them over there again? Healers? Do not try to convince me this is Ronald’s child because it has hair like Nancy Spungen!”

“MUM!” Hermione shouted. She clapped a hand over her mouth, but the baby boy seemed to be exhausted from his spittle episode and remained asleep. She continued,

“Mum, this is not my baby. Someone left him on my doorstep and I thought about taking him to St. Mungo’s but …” She trailed off. There was no logical follow-up. “I just can’t bear the thought of entrusting him to someone I don’t know, and I’ve only known him ten minutes!”

Mrs. Granger tilted her head to one side and there was a knowing look on her face. She was able to read Hermione far too well.

“Do you know who his parents are?”

Hermione shook her head.

“His mother died a few days ago and his father … I don’t know.”

“Some people aren’t meant to be parents, Hermione. Sometimes people aren’t prepared and they do stupid things. Maybe his father doesn’t want that responsibility and decided to leave him with you.”

Hermione shook her head, “That’s not it. I don’t believe his father left him. There has to be a reason!”

Her mother opened her mouth to say something but stopped as Hermione’s father came bumbling down the stairs. Freshly shaven and ready to take on the day, Jack Granger made a beeline for the kitchen.

“Who was at the door, Abby? Did you tell them to bugger off at this hour? Who would—Hermione?”

“Hi, Dad,” she smiled weakly. He opened his arms and went to hug her but stopped short.

“Is that a baby?!” he whisper-shouted as his eyes went wide in shock.

“It’s not mine!” Hermione repeated.

“I don’t understand. Did you steal it?” he teased.

“Someone left him on my doorstep.”

“Are you keeping him?” asked Mr. Granger.

Hermione shifted awkwardly and stared at the kitchen’s tile floor. The only sounds in the room were a ticking clock and the baby’s soft breathing against her shoulder as she weighed her options. It seemed like honesty was the only way to go.

“I don’t know, Dad,” Hermione finally admitted. She shrugged. “I want him to have a nice home and I feel responsible for him now. I don’t want to give him up.”

“That’s a yes, honey,” her father said.

“Jack, Hermione doesn’t know the first thing about taking care of a baby!” Mrs. Granger insisted.

“There isn’t a single thing Hermione can’t learn!”

“Right, but how steep is that curve?” Mrs. Granger said.

Hermione hated when they spoke about her like she wasn’t standing right there. Then again, for the past three years she hadn’t given them an alternative. How many conversations like this had there been since she last visited?

“How did you get here?”

The question broke Hermione from her reverie. She shook her head and asked,

“Sorry, what?”

“I asked how you got here,” her mother said.

“I Apparated.”

Both her parents gasped.

“Oh my God! Hermione! You just popped over here with a newborn! Are you mad? What if he lost a fingernail or a toe? What if we weren’t home? Would you have kept popping ‘round to places until you’d found someone? What on God’s green earth were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t!” Hermione admitted. Tears spilled over her lashline and down her face. Suddenly it was all too much. “I wasn’t thinking, alright? I was drunk and he just appeared on the stoop. I thought it was a nightmare! And … and … I just didn’t know what to do. You’re right, I don’t know anything about this and I don’t have anywhere else to go!”

Her parents nodded.

“Okay,” her mother said. She reached out to take hold of the little boy, but Hermione clutched him tighter and stepped back. Hermione asked,

“Do you promise you’ll give him back to me?”

“Of course, Hermione,” her mother insisted, disappointed that Hermione would think otherwise. Hermione begrudgingly handed the baby to her mother, who cooed appreciatively.

“This is a nice swaddle, Hermione,” she observed. “And here Jack never thought you’d give us any grandchildren.”

“Whoa!” Hermione insisted. “He’s not mine. I mean, he’s mine for now. Just until we find his father, or some other relative to take care of him. Another relative with a loving home and good resources and … and …”

“Right, honey,” her father said with a knowing look. Hermione rolled her eyes and he laughed. “I’m just so happy you’re here. I’m so happy you came to us, right Abby?”

“Yes,” Hermione’s mother answered absentmindedly. She was completely enchanted by the little boy in her arms. Mr. Granger asked,

“What’s his name?”

“He doesn’t have one. There was a note that said he should be named after a star, but that’s it,” Hermione said.

“A star?” Her father’s eyes lit up. “Oh, I have the perfect book! Hold on, I will be right back!”

He was off to his study before Hermione could stop him. She sighed, resigned to the fact this was the best decision she could have made given the circumstances. She looked at her mother, holding the baby she just met like it was her own grandson.

“I should have visited more,” Hermione admitted.

“Yes, you should have, but we should have respected your decision, too. I know that’s why you never came back to see us. Ginevra keeps us up-to-date, you know, between your holiday cards. If you weren’t happy we should have respected that. We just always thought you’d end up very happy with Ron. He seemed like a good young lad.”

“He may be,” Hermione admitted. “Just not the one for me.”

“Well, I’m happy to see you, darling. I really am. And if this little guy here brought you back to us, then he’s part of the family now, too.”

Hermione had no response. The baby was kind of cute, in the way all babies are cute with their wide eyes and button noses. She still didn’t understand what was so special about _this_ baby. This nameless little star who had already helped to right her world.

She wiped the tears from her eyes and sighed. Her father came out with a copy of _The Stars: A New Way to See Them._ He flipped through it and several of his bookmarks fell onto the floor. He bent over to pick them up and said,

“There are so many stars in the sky! So many to choose from, Hermione. We’ll have to get you some parenting books; Abby and I gave ours away to the neighbors a year or so ago when they were expecting.”

“Dad,” Hermione’s voice wavered, “I don’t have anything. He came with a basket and a note. I don’t know the first thing about doing this. Ginny taught me how to fold the blanket and how to hold them when I visited, but that’s not enough, is it?”

Her mother shook her head, but her father insisted,

“You can absolutely learn. I’ll take you to the shop, I think it opens in an hour. You can leave the boy here with your mother, whom I believe would like that very much.”

It was obvious she would. Abigail Granger looked like Christmas had come early. Hermione nervously tucked a curl behind her ear and crossed her arms, unsure whether to accept her parents’ help.

_I’m not sure I’m ready to re-enter their lives. But, really, what choice do I have?_

“Okay,” Hermione nodded. “But I need you to support me in this. Harry and Ginny and everyone else are going to judge me for what happens with this child. They will have different opinions and I need someone to just be on my side here. Against my better judgement, I’m asking you two to be that for me. Can you promise me your support when I need you?”

“Absolutely,” her father insisted.

“Anything for our little star, here,” her mother added. “And for you, Hermione, anything. Anything you need.”

Hermione hoped she could trust them but history was not on their side. It felt all too much like she was a little girl crawling back to her parents for help. Then again, that’s what family is supposed to be.

_Perhaps I need a little reminder._

She didn’t have anywhere else to go, so a half hour later she was in the front of her father’s car on their way to the shops.

**.oOo.**

“Your mother is much better at this than I am,” her father said, debating between onesies. Hermione pointed to the powder blue one. “She did most of the shopping for you. I was more the line-stander and nappy-changer.”

It was an honest attempt at family humour, but it fell flat. Hermione sighed.

“I’m grateful for your help, Dad, really, but I haven’t forgiven you for what you said.” Before he could reply, she insisted, “It was not a heat-of-the-moment accident, either! You meant all of it, and while you probably wish you said it more delicately it doesn’t change how either one of us feels.”

Mr. Granger wiped some invisible dust off the trolley handle and said,

“It’s been so long now I hardly remember—“

“You said that Ron was the only good thing about my life. You said I should stay with him because he loved me and we went through war together. Then you said my relationship to the Weasleys was the one reason you trusted me after you got back from Australia, when the only reason I sent you there was to protect you!”

“I know, Hermione. You’re right that I should have said it differently. All I really wanted was for you to be happy.”

“That’s the one thing you didn’t say,” Hermione snapped back. “You put Ron’s happiness over mine, and I may have only been a parent for an hour, but I am fairly certain that is not what parents are supposed to do!”

“I thought he made you happy, Hermione,” Mr. Granger replied. “We fit together so nicely as a family; Molly and Arthur were delighted when you accepted Ron’s proposal. Generally, when a lady accepts a man’s proposal, it is because he makes her happy.”

“I said yes because he proposed in front of a few dozen people and I thought maybe we could work out okay. But Dad, I don’t want to be okay. If I am going to love someone for the rest of my life, like you and Mum, it’s going to take work. Ronald was not worth the effort. But you never asked why I left him, never supported my decision, and I haven’t forgiven you for that. Now, help me pick out a car seat before I decide to do this alone.”

Mr. Granger picked one, double-checked the safety features, and made for the baby carriages. Hermione followed with a week’s worth of baby clothes draped over her arm. Her father was diligently testing one of the carriages when he said,

“Are you sure you’re up for this, Hermione? Parenting is difficult enough when there’s two of you. Going it alone … I know you can do it. There isn’t a single thing you can’t do in either world if you set your mind to it. But I also know you will find this boy’s father. He might have a family, might be willing to take care of his son. You need to think about what to do when that happens because … I’m on your team here, Hermione. I am because you’re right that I was wrong. I owe it to you to support this decision, but I also don’t want to see you hurt because you were unprepared.”

Hermione nodded.

“I’m not sure what I want yet.”

“That’s a lie and you know it,” her father said with a smile. “If you didn’t feel a connection you would have taken him straight to the hospital. He is not a library book you can check in and out as you please, but you know that and you are still here looking to care for him. I think it will be good for you to have another person in your life.”

He was right. Being Healer-in-charge of the Maeve Ward was a great job. Her friends were great, but as they built their own families Hermione made a closer connection with her work. There wasn’t anything wrong with that, Hermione knew, it just made it difficult to understand their experiences. (And for them to understand hers.) Then Fate dropped this little boy on her doorstep and maybe she didn’t need to be alone anymore. Perhaps this was the family she was always meant to have.

The gravity of her decision finally overwhelmed Hermione once they made it to cribs. She rested her elbows on the carriage handle and let her face fall into her hands. They’d stuffed the clothes, cloth nappies, and bottles in the carriage, having ditched the trolley somewhere around car seats. Mr. Granger put a tentative hand on Hermione’s shoulder as if to say, _I know you can do it._

“I can use your help with a name,” Hermione acquiesced. Mr. Granger’s eyes lit up.

“I was hoping you would ask! There are so many names to choose from, but most of them will probably get him roughed up a bit at school.”

Hermione thought back on every time she’d referred to Luna as “Loony.” She didn’t think it was cruel at the time, but looking back …

“Well then, I’ll make sure he’s able to properly defend himself.” After a moment she amended, “Or I could teach him to hide in the library. That sounds more like me.”

Mr. Granger chuckled.

“A star or a constellation, yes? There is Sarin, one of the members of the Hercules constellation. Abell is actually a galaxy cluster in there. Next to Hercules you have the Coronoa Borealis. Mirach is part of the Andromeda constellation …”

And so it went until they had packed the car and begun the short drive home.

They opened the door to see Mrs. Granger on the couch, feeding the unnamed baby a bottle. A humbling scene for Hermione, the very picture of what might have been: her mother caring for her son with a look of adoration. It’s just that everyone thought the baby would have ginger hair and Ron Weasley would be at Hermione’s side.

_This is much better._

“I’m glad you’re home! Our little star here woke up an hour ago so I gave him a quick change. Thank goodness we babysit for the neighbors so we weren’t without the basics. He is such a quiet little one,” Mrs. Granger whispered affectionately. “What did you purchase at the shops?”

“A crib, a baby carriage, car seat, nappies, bottles, formula, toys, blankets, onesies, and about seventy-two books on parenting,” Hermione rattled off. Her mother placed the bottle on the side table and said,

“Take him.”

Hermione sat next to her mother on the couch and gently took the baby in her arms. He had that strange goop forming in his eyes again and she wiped it away with her pinkie. He still had that look, the unspoken challenge that drew Hermione to him, but he also looked comfortable in her arms. Perhaps he just needed to adjust to new people and new surroundings because he was, in fact, quiet.

“Dad, what’s your favourite star?” she asked. Mr. Granger narrowed his eyes and scrunched his nose in thought.

“Antares,” he replied. “It’s nothing terribly special in terms of brightness or a star system. In fact, its neighbor star is a binary star system, but, oh, anyway! Apologies, I get a little carried away with my hobbies, you know.”

_You’re not Antares, are you, little star? No, no … That just doesn’t fit._

“Its name comes from Ares, the Greek god of war, and I find the star’s legend fascinating. Orion, the mighty warrior, was supposedly defeated by a scorpion you can also see in the night sky.”

_Orion doesn’t suit you either._

“Antares is the scorpion’s heart, and because it is a red supergiant you can see it glow red almost like a beating heart. Because of their combative history, Orion doesn’t rise until Scorpius sets and Scorpius doesn’t rise until Orion sets. They are never in the sky at the same time.”

_Wait …_

“Say that again?” Hermione asked.

“They are never in the sky at the same time.”

“No, no—before that. You said something else.”

“Oh, Antares is the beating heart of the Scorpius constellation.”

Hermione looked down at the sleeping boy in her arms. He wasn’t particularly large or warrior-looking ... Not that Hermione knew what a warrior baby would look like, but this little guy wasn’t it. Those tufts of white-blond hair and the contented little sigh he gave when his head met the crook of her elbow ...

_I’ve known you a few hours and I already want to keep you in my life. I thought I was prepared for everything, then you show up and that’s gone to hell now. I don’t know what it is about you or why I feel like I know you, but you need a home and I have one. I don’t know how to take care of you so you’ll have to work with me on this, but I look at you and see my heart in your eyes._

“Scorpius,” Hermione announced. “His name is Scorpius.”

“I love it!” Mrs. Granger said, pleased with the name. Hermione smiled, glad to see her mother was on her side in this.

“Technically Scorpius is not a star, it’s a constellation, but it fits him,” Mr. Granger added.

“Well his mother won’t be bothering me about it,” Hermione quipped.

“What about a middle name, then?”

Hermione shook her head and said, “That’s not mine to give him. His mother was a pureblood and his father might be, as well. They have their own traditions and I won’t intrude upon that.”

“That’s very kind of you, honey,” Hermione’s father praised the decision. Her mother looked a little put out, but said nothing.

_Scorpius. I promise to make sure that wherever you end up you are loved. I promise._


	3. The 'M' Word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Visitors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 8/1/18: The first section was moved to the end of Chapter 2. Minor edits made to the remaining text.

Hermione Apparated to work a little after noon, not much later than she would’ve arrived had her life not been flipped upside-down by a small bundle on the stoop. Chief Healer, Reginald Battlehunt, was perplexed when Hermione showed up in his office asking for three months of maternity leave.

Hermione would need to get used to the phrase, “I didn’t know you were pregnant!”

“I adopted?” she asked like it might not be the right answer. “Adopted” sounded so official, and very much unlike: _An unknown person left a baby on my doorstep and I couldn’t bear to part with him._

“I see,” Healer Battlehunt mumbled. “Do you suppose you could make it in once a week, just to keep your staff up to snuff? Your research skills and expertise are unparalleled, Miss Granger.”

“If I come to work, does that mean my job is more important than my s—than Scorpius?” she asked herself aloud. Chief Healer Battlehunt replied with his own question.

“Why do you work here?”

Hermione sighed.

“I work here because I want to help people recover from magical ailments, because I want to make the world a better place and this was the only way I knew to do it.”

“And isn’t that something your new son would be proud of?”

_My son. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to that. Healer Battlehunt has a good point, though, as I don’t want to stop all the good I’ve been doing here. But Scorpius comes first, so …_

“A half-day,” Hermione amended. “I will come in for four hours every Wednesday to maintain my standing. Four hours is a hard limit; I am not leaving Scorpius for any longer. Also, I will need this first week to myself. If there is anything I know it’s that I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Chief Healer Battlehunt nodded in acquiescence.

“I do hope you enjoy parenting, Granger. If you ever need anything, St. Mungo’s is here to help you.”

“I appreciate that, sir, I really do.”

**.oOo.**

The biggest benefit of magic came during diaper changes. Hermione magicked a small rubbish bin so that when she dropped one of soiled cloth nappies inside, she could pick it up moments later, fully cleaned. Scorpius took to the onesies but he refused to sleep in any blanket other than the one from his basket.

Hermione owled Harry on Tuesday and he agreed to pop over Wednesday for a chat. By the time he stepped out of Hermione’s Floo, she’d slept maybe fourteen hours in three days. Her hair was frizzier than usual and pulled back in a bun because Scorpius had been quick to master two things: grab and pull. Her father had purchased a few dropcloths, so Scorpius’s spit-ups no longer stained her shirts. Slowly but surely, she was adapting.

“Holy hell, Hermione!” Harry shouted. She flinched and shushed him, but Harry didn’t heed her request.

“Are you alright? What the hell happened to you?!”

She must’ve looked something awful. Harry wrapped her in a hug and she sank into his embrace, grateful someone else was there to hold her weight.

“It’s good to see you,” she mumbled into his shoulder.

“It’s been, er, two weeks? Al is about ready to walk, so Gin’s been obsessive about me being there every moment. I missed James’s first steps because I was at work and I thought she’d have my bollocks for that.”

Hermione laughed and let him go only to sink into a chair. Harry’s humour was immediately replaced by concern.

“Seriously, Hermione, are you okay? I haven’t seen you this frazzled since … Ever. Tell me what’s going on. Do you need help? Is it your parents? Are they alright?”

Hermione took a deep breath and held up a hand, signaling him to stop.

“I need your help. Well, your advice. But you have to promise you won’t panic when I tell you why.”

Harry raised a skeptical eyebrow and nervously adjusted his glasses.

“I suppose,” he acquiesced.

Hermione exhaled and admitted, “It really is probably better if I just show you.” She led Harry into the living area where Scorpius was resting in a small crib next to the couch. Harry stopped dead in his tracks and whispered,

“Is … Is that a baby?”

“Yes.”

“But you weren’t pregnant!”

Hermione collapsed on the couch and Harry took the armchair across from her.

“This is why I called you. Someone left him on the stoop, Harry. Sunday morning, I woke up to a knock on my door, and when I opened it Scorp was lying there in a basket.” She let her face fall into her hands. “I was going to take him to St. Mungo’s, I was, but then I just couldn’t let him go without knowing he’d be going somewhere better. I may not be the best surrogate parent, but I’m not the worst either!”

Harry stared at the crib like he expected it to catch fire.

“Astoria Greengrass was his mother. She was a couple years behind us in school, so I don’t know if you remember her. She died a week or so ago but Mum thinks Scorp is at least two weeks old. I don’t understand how she could possibly know that, but obviously I am out of my depth here. I haven’t the faintest idea who could be his father.”

Then Harry looked at her like she had gone ‘round the bend.

“Sorry, what?”

“I said I don’t know the father.”

“You … You don’t know who his father is?”

“No, why … Have you heard something?” She couldn’t keep the hope out of her voice. If only she had someone to depend on, just for a day. Just a little reset, or for a few hours’ rest, even …

“I, er, well … No. No, I haven’t heard anything.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him.

“There is something you aren’t telling me, Harry Potter. I am your best friend and you are a poor liar.”

Harry deflected by nodding toward the crib.

“What’s his name? Did I hear you say Scorp?”

“Scorpius.”

“That’s an interesting choice.”

“So is Albus Severus,” Hermione quipped back.

“You know, Gin’s given me enough shit over that—“

“Look, I chose Scorpius because it’s the name he will be called by people who love him. If I give him another name he’ll lose a connection to his birth family. I can’t make that choice for him. Besides, look at him! He doesn’t look like a Granger at all!”

“No, he doesn’t,” Harry mumbled. Hermione could tell he knew more than he let on, but was too tired to press him further.

“I didn’t bring you here to talk names,” Hermione insisted. “I brought you here because Scorpius isn’t the only baby to have wound up on someone’s doorstep.”

Harry nodded solemnly.

“What do you want to know?”

“Am I doing the right thing?”

Hermione didn’t mean for the words to be a plea, but her desperation was evident. Harry sagged back into the armchair. He stared at Scorpius with solidarity. Hermione didn’t know what to do as Harry took a couple minutes to form an answer. She rocked the crib back and forth a little bit as she waited.

“I’m not sure I have an answer.” It wasn’t the response she wanted, but also wasn’t the worst she could have received. “Before you and Ron I never had a family but it was the only thing I wanted. If that is what you want for him, then you are doing the right thing.”

“That’s all I want,” Hermione insisted. “I want to be here for him until I find his father.”

“And when you do?” Harry asked, tentatively.

“Well I suppose I’ll ask why the hell this baby is with me and not with him!” Hermione whisper-shouted. “Babies don’t just wind up on doorsteps for no reason!”

“It’s his baby, Hermione,” Harry said rather gently. “You will have to come up with an arrangement that works for both of you.”

“What should I do, Harry?” Hermione asked quietly. “I can’t just be his parent one month and not be the next. I cannot live in fear of losing him, but I owe it to him to find his family, don’t I?” Harry nodded so she continued.

“Can I be honest?”

“Of course, Hermione,” Harry said. “You can tell me anything, you know that. Why would you even ask?”

“Because I don’t think I am cut out for this,” she admitted. “I love this kid. I mean, I hate him when he spits up and every time I have to change his damn nappy, but I love him. Which is batshit-insane! I’ve known him four days! But … But …”

“Hermione …”

“This isn’t about Ron!” she shouted, before quickly checking to make sure Scorpius remained asleep. Harry raised a quizzical eyebrow and she admitted, “Okay, it’s a little bit about Ron.”

“He misses you. Alicia misses you, too.”

“Truth is, Harry, I’m ashamed,” Hermione admitted. “One day I looked at Ronald and realized he wasn’t what I needed him to be. I just wasn’t satisfied—oh, hell, not like that you complete arse!” She chided Harry because his expression conveyed exactly where his mind had gone. “I just didn’t love him enough. I loved him, but when I looked at my life five or ten years later, I didn’t want to be at his side. He wanted me to be a person I can’t become, and I wanted the same for him.

“What if I do the same with Scorpius? What if one day I wake up and decide I don’t want to be his parent?” She sighed heavily. “I’m being selfish by keeping him and I’m afraid that one day I won’t want to anymore.”

“No! You should always look out for yourself and your happiness,” Harry insisted. “After everything we went through we deserve to be happy. If Ron wasn’t it for you, then he wasn’t it. You want to provide for this child, that’s love, Hermione. It’s a kind of love that won’t go away. Scorpius doesn’t need you to be someone you are not; he needs Hermione Granger. And, forgive me, Hermione, but I think you might need him, too.”

It was true and she knew it. She needed a family and was starting to thread one together. Harry stood up and gestured to the stairs.

“You need to go get some sleep. I told Gin I’d be here a couple hours.”

Hermione didn’t need to be told twice. Halfway up the staircase she shouted down to Harry,

“You wouldn’t happen to know a nanny available on Wednesdays, would you?”

Harry got a curious look on his face and revealed, “Yeah, I might, actually. Well, not a nanny, really, but there is someone I trust to look after my kids.”

**.oOo.**

Sundays were family days. They agreed every Sunday Mr. and Mrs. Granger would visit Hermione in Queen’s Park. She opened her front door to see her mother’s arms overflowing with baby things. Hermione’s father, on the other hand, expressed his concern.

“Honey, you look dreadful.”

Hermione shut the door and replied, “So I’ve been told.”

“Upstairs, right now, young lady!” He practically propelled her up to her room, and Hermione didn’t want to leave them, but at the same time she needed some quality time with her pillows.

She woke up eight hours later. Hermione stretched as she got out of bed and drew herself a bath. She lounged in the tub and conditioned her hair for the first time in more than a week. Once she toweled off and dressed Hermione no longer smelled like dirty nappies and looked, not refreshed, but better. She heard laughter and made her way down the stairs.

Scorpius was lying on his stomach in the living area, Mrs. Granger watching him closely. Both her parents chuckled as Scorpius floundered his way to the toy ring in front of him. Once Hermione sat on the couch, her father remarked that she looked much better. She smiled at him.

“I feel better! Scorp hardly lets me sleep at all. He won’t go to sleep unless I’m holding him, and I think he’s starting to realize that if he cries, I appear. He normally hates being on his stomach.”

“You have to give him a distraction, a toy for him to focus on. It will help him learn to move his arms and build strength to lift his head.”

_Oh. Why didn’t I think of that?_

“Scorp?” her father asked. “Is that what we’re calling him now?”

Hermione shrugged.

“Suits him, I think.”

“You know what may help, Hermione? Music,” Mrs. Granger said. “When you were a baby, you loved listening to music before you slept. Jack, do you have any cassettes in the car we could give to Hermione. You do have a cassette player, don’t you, dear?”

“Yes, Mum, I have a cassette player. I’m a witch, not a cavewoman.”

Hermione grabbed the green blanket and made it into a diamond, having mastered the swaddle sometime in the past week. She scooped Scorpius off of his stomach and placed him in the centre of the blanket. She paused because one of her parents had changed his onesie. It was a beautiful powder blue which complemented Scorp’s pale skin and light hair. He smacked his lips together, happy to be back in his favourite blanket. What caught Hermione’s attention was the small Snitch embroidered on his chest.

“Mum, did you stitch this?” she asked.

“Do you like it? I couldn’t tell if I got it right. We have your old textbooks, you see, and I found _Quidditch Through the Ages._ Ginevra talks about Quidditch constantly, and I am beginning to think it’s the only sport wizards have. I’ve been looking for an excuse to do some more needlepoint and, well, Scorp—“ Hermione cut her off with a hug.

“Thank you, Mum. That was really sweet.”

She let go and returned to Scorpius, pointedly avoiding her mother’s watery eyes. Once Scorpius was successfully swaddled, Mr. Granger reentered the house with several cassette tapes.

“If it means I no longer have to listen to this rubbish in the car, take as many as you want, Hermione,” he said. Mrs. Granger laughed.

“I’m only allowing it because our grandson is so adorable.”

Hermione went completely still.

_Our grandson?_

“He’s family now, Hermione,” her mother said. Hermione’s renewed tension had not gone unnoticed. “I intend to dote on my grandson as much as you will allow.”

“Mum, do you think I’m cut out for this?” she asked. “I am trying, but this isn’t easy. One parenting book says one thing, the next says another, and I am frightened of making a mistake.”

“Oh, honey, you’re going to make a mistake. You’ve already made several of them,” her father said. He meant it to be helpful but it stung more than Hermione cared to admit.

_I’m not used to making mistakes._

“Perfect parents don’t exist. As long as you keep your baby safe, healthy, and loved … As long as you do your best, you will be a great mother to little Scorp here,” he insisted.

“I don’t like the ‘m’ word,” Hermione admitted.

“Mistake?” Mrs. Granger asked.

“Mother,” Hermione amended.

“Oh,” her parents said in unison. Hermione huffed and stared down at Scorpius. He had a content little smile on his face; apparently playtime and swaddle time were two of his favourite things.

“He’s a firecracker,” Hermione told them. “He’s quiet until he wants something, then he turns into a drama queen. We have it down to a science, now, every time he cries: check the nappy, feed him a bottle, then burp for spittle. “

“It sounds like you’re adapting just fine,” Mrs. Granger observed. Hermione smiled at that. If her mother approved of her parenting technique, no one else’s disapproval could possibly matter.

“His aunt is paying us a visit tomorrow.”

“Oh!” Mr. Granger exclaimed. “That will go a long way toward helping you figure out the father won’t it?”

“I hope so.”

“Are you worried about what she will think?” Mrs. Granger asked. Her hesitation made Hermione’s ears perk up.

“What she will think about what, exactly?”

“It’s just that, you said … Now, I know I’m not well-versed in wizarding politics, but you said his mother was a Pureblood.”

“You’re wondering whether his aunt will want to take him away from me because I’m Muggle-born?” Hermione asked.

“Yes. I have to wonder why her sister did not leave the baby to her in the first place,” Mr. Granger weighed in. “There must be an estrangement? Maybe she will want to take Scorpius after all.”

Hermione chuckled darkly and said, “I would like to see her try.”


	4. Slytherins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashbacks and visitors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for death resulting from childbirth. It's not actively happening, just spoken about, but I can see how that could lessen your enjoyment if you're not forewarned.
> 
> 8/1/18: Minor edits made to the text.

Hermione could count the Slytherins she’d seen in the past eight years on one hand. Daphne Greengrass would be the sixth. Blaise Zabini attended Harry’s wedding, Bastien Queensbury worked at the apothecary in Diagon Alley, she’d spotted Theo Nott a few times, and Amrish Gupta had come to St. Mungo’s to be treated for Dragon burns. Then there were two encounters with Draco Malfoy which Hermione would prefer to forget.

She testified at Malfoy’s trial. Not to the extent Harry had, because he was overtly passionate about keeping Draco out of Azkaban. He recounted Malfoy’s reticence to kill Professor Dumbledore, how Draco didn’t give the three of them up to Voldemort at Malfoy Manor, and how Narcissa Malfoy chose not to give Harry over to the Dark Lord during the Final Battle. Hermione only went because Harry insisted someone else needed to come to Draco’s defense. The Wizengamot could ignore one-third of the Golden Trio, he reasoned, but not two. Ron would’ve sooner sewn his own mouth shut than say a word in Malfoy’s defense so Hermione agreed to give Malfoy two words.

Only two words.

Hermione sat in the witness chair as the Wizengamot members yelled questions at her. She thought it would be more civilized, but the Malfoy trial had been … perplexing. She answered none of them, sitting straight and remaining stone-still until they had shouted themselves hoarse. The Chief Warlock announced,

“Miss Granger, you are not cooperating with this chamber and we will hold you in contempt should you continue to refuse to answer questions. Lord Draco Malfoy stands accused of three counts of attempted murder of Albus Dumbledore, two counts of unintentional assault upon students at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, one count of being an accomplice to torture, and conspiracy to overthrow the government in support of Lord Voldemort’s rebellion.”

_He didn’t need to say all those things. I was there, I saw them happen. You all know he watched his aunt torture me. He stood off to the side as I cried out in unimaginable pain and he was not brave enough to do anything. That’s the worst part about Malfoy, not that he hated me but that he didn’t want to hurt me. Draco Malfoy simply wasn’t brave enough to stop it, to switch sides or follow what he knew was right. It just so happened that I paid the price for it more times than anyone else. I don’t need the Chief Warlock to remind me of all the shitty things Draco Malfoy has done._

_Ask me the question I came here to answer._

“Do you understand these charges?”

“Yes,” Hermione said.

“Should Lord Malfoy plead guilty to these charges, do you believe he should have his wand snapped and be sent to Azkaban?”

The ensuing quiet coated Hermione like she’d been doused with a bucket of ice water. In the frigid silence all fifty members of the Wizengamot leaned forward to hear her answer. Draco was several metres to her left in a ridiculous iron chair, with his wrists and feet bound to it by magic-restraining cuffs. His head was tilted toward the heavens, eyes closed like he was waiting for Hermione to swing the axe. Smug bastard thought he knew her answer.

She got lost in Draco Malfoy for a moment. His confines were so primitive, so unnecessary. Draco Malfoy had never been violent to anyone except Harry and he was too proud to make an escape attempt. Pride and money were all the Malfoys really had. They couldn’t take away his money so the restraints were the Wizengamot’s method of humiliation. Hermione hated Malfoy, but she hated the people behind the bench, too. The Chief Warlock repeated,

“Miss Granger, do you believe that to be a suitable punishment?”

“No.”

Draco’s head snapped up and everyone in the chamber gasped. Even Harry had raised a surprised eyebrow. While Draco’s face was an impassive mask, Hermione saw the surprise in his eyes. The Chief Warlock kept opening his mouth and closing it like a catfish, completely lost for words. So Hermione got up and left.

She saw Malfoy four years later in Obscurus Books. Once each of them realized the other was present, they were too close to pretend they hadn’t seen each other. Draco stood over a small display, clutching a copy of _Protection Charm Your Mind: An Advanced Guide to Counter Legilimency_. Hermione saw his jaw clench, probably to prevent himself from saying something uncouth. His father died a couple months earlier and Draco clearly hadn’t been getting much sleep. He tensed the moment Hermione spotted him. Separated by a mere two metres, Draco mouthed something to her which looked like, _Thank you._ She nodded at him then left.

**.oOo.**

On Monday, a red-eyed Daphne Greengrass stepped out of Hermione’s Floo. Hermione invited her to sit down at the kitchen table, a little hesitant, a little wary. Scorpius was napping in the bedroom, so Hermione positioned herself between Daphne and the stairs.  

“Sorry I don’t have anything to offer you for lunch,” she lamented. “I just … I’ve been a bit busy.”

Daphne nodded stiffly.

“I am sure I wouldn’t want what you provided anyway, so let us consider that an obstacle avoided.”

Hermione was a bit put off by her tone, but elected to take the high road. Daphne was Scorp’s family, after all. Though her hair was a darker blonde and she had brown eyes so she bore little resemblance to her nephew.

“I am happy you came,” Hermione admitted. “I know—“

“How do you know it’s Astoria’s child?” Daphne cut her off.

“She left a note in the basket.”

“Of course, she did,” Daphne nodded. She sighed and delicately wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “Astoria had a rare blood disease. One of our great-great-great-great grandfathers was cursed with it, and it surfaces once every seven generations. She very weak and we knew she wouldn’t live to be very old, but she was only twenty-four!” Daphne paused. Her restraint wavered as she choked on a sob.

“Oh, Daphne, um, here …” Hermione held out a tissue box. Daphne took one, wiped her nose, and continued.

“She wouldn’t tell us who the father was; said it was a one-night thing. An accident, and he was out of the country by the time she realized she was pregnant.” Daphne paused to blow her nose. “Mother and Father were infuriated when she told them. I must confess, I was upset with her as well. She was so reckless. We were sure it would kill her to carry the baby to term because it needed so much more than her body could provide.

“Astoria said she would rather bring life into the world because this child would give more love to his father than she could ever hope to. She wanted to give someone else a family but tore ours apart in the process.”

“How do you mean?” Hermione asked.

“Mother and Father disowned her. They thought …” she hiccupped. “Excuse me. Forgive me if it sounds crass, but they believed she would only hide his identity because he was Muggle-born. Which is rubbish because Astoria never cared about that. She must have had a good reason not to tell us.”

Hermione sagged back into her chair. Daphne was her best hope at finding Scorpius’s father. She was back to square one.

“I visited when I could. I didn’t want Mother and Father to know, but I also couldn’t bear to be away from her. Astoria was bedridden the later months because she was too weak to support the baby’s weight. It was dreadful to watch her disappear like that. May 28th is the baby’s birthday, which I feel you should know.”

Hermione nodded and wrote that down on a spare piece of parchment. Daphne continued,

“We had hope, but someone else was caring for her and they owled me when she died. I just … Just …” Daphne broke down in heaving sobs and Hermione leaned forward to wrap her in a hug and pat her back until she felt like she could speak again.

“I don’t even know who was caring for her! Oh, Merlin, I am such a mess. She kept most of it secret even from me. She didn’t trust me and was probably right not to. Now I am here in your bloody kitchen hoping you are taking good care of the baby so I don’t have to.”

Hermione was stunned.

“Of course! Of course, I am!”

“Thank Merlin,” Daphne sighed and wiped her nose. “So I can leave it here with you?”

“Leave him?” Hermione asked, befuddled. “Don’t you want to spend time with him? I was terrified you would want to take him away from me.”

“Astoria just died less than two weeks ago. My parents believe I was too soft, visiting her at the end and planning the funeral. Then she thought I didn’t support her enough. She said that having this child was the most important thing she could think to do because her life was so short. Of course, I told her it didn’t need to be that short, if only she would have … I don’t know. I don’t know what I wish she would have done. I wish she wouldn’t have fucked someone who wasn’t there to stay. She deserved someone who would.”

“You should meet him,” Hermione insisted. “Scorpius deserves to have a family, and I …” She wondered how honest she should be with Daphne. “I still don’t know if I am enough for him.”

Daphne shook her head.

“I just can’t, not right now. It is so shitty of me, but I lost my sister because of him; Astoria lost her entire family and then her life. I need time to come to terms with that. It isn’t his fault, Granger, I know it isn’t, but it doesn’t feel that way right now. I just need some time to … to …”

“Mourn,” Hermione supplied.

“Yeah,” Daphne agreed. “I miss her so much. We didn’t lose anyone in the war, so this … I am not used to this. I don’t understand it; I don’t know what to do. I am useless.”

“I understand. During the war, I modified my parents’ memories and sent them to Australia because I was afraid someone would try to kill them.” Daphne sniffled in surprise. “I did what I thought was best. Even though they didn’t trust me after I removed the charm it was a small price to pay for saving their lives. It sounds like your sister did what she thought was the right thing.”

“It was unfair to her, to me, to our family to make that choice,” Daphne insisted.

“Perhaps it was.” Hermione conceded. “I can tell you Scorpius is nothing but love. Well, love and snot and dirty nappies. But if she wanted to bring love into the world, Astoria already succeeded. I’ve had him a week and he has already become the one good thing between me and my parents. I am grateful she made this decision and I think you will be too, sometime.”

“I just can’t, Granger,” Daphne said, an edge of finality in her tone. “Not yet.”

“Okay,” Hermione nodded. “Is there any other information you can give me?”

Daphne shook her head.

“That is all I have.”

“Well, um … I appreciate you telling me,” Hermione finished lamely.

Daphne stood and tentatively placed a hand on Hermione’s shoulder.

“Thank you, Granger, for keeping him. I no longer need to wonder where he ended up or whether I am failing Astoria by not taking him in. I am grateful. I know our past at school was … unpleasant.”

_An understatement._

“You know what it’s like to be told you are one thing and know it doesn’t quite fit. Maybe you are the best person to help a child with a broken family. I can tell that you believe I am prejudiced like my family, but you are wrong. I don’t believe in that anymore. Blood purists are loyal enough to watch their own daughter suffer and I won’t be party to that.”

**.oOo.**

Scorpius would only fall asleep if someone was holding him or if there was music playing. Not just any music, but loud theatrical productions. Hermione was not surprised her father jumped at the chance to rid the car of these cassettes. Scorpius had taken to, of all things, _Phantom of the Opera_. He was snoring softly by “Music of the Night,” and Hermione fell asleep soon after, fully-clothed.

Hermione woke to someone knocking on her front door.

_Please, dear God, don’t be another baby._

She glanced at the clock: nine in the morning. Scorp had been asleep five whole hours! Hermione walked downstairs to answer the door.

“Dean Thomas?” Hermione asked, surprised. “Oh, hell, it’s Wednesday, isn’t it? I’m gonna be late,” she groaned. But Dean scooped her into a hug and said,

“It’s good to see you too, Hermione.”

She laughed when he put her back on the floor.

“I know, I know, it’s just … A lot of work.”

Dean was several inches taller than her and quite literally the friendliest person she ever met. Hermione was ecstatic when Harry suggested Dean watch Scorpius for a few hours because he was a kind soul and Scorp needed as much exposure to that as he could get. Dean opened his mouth to say something, but Hermione held up a hand because she noticed Dean hadn’t arrived alone.

“Granger,” Blaise Zabini greeted Hermione and eyed her distastefully. Admittedly, she had been wearing the same jeans for three days, her t-shirt was wrinkled, and her bun was held up with her wand. All things considered, her look had improved over the past week. Blaise, on the other hand, looked like he just walked out of an issue of _Wizards Quarterly_. He wore a purple button-down with the sleeves rolled up to the crook of his elbows, dark jeans, and shoes that cost more than Hermione was willing to contemplate.

To be blunt, he was the most handsome man Hermione had ever seen. His eyes were a golden-brown that reminded Hermione of apple cider, and he held himself like he knew exactly how beautiful he was. Dean laughed, the corner of Blaise’s mouth twitched up, and Hermione realized she had been staring at him open-mouthed for much longer than one could have considered appropriate.

“Are you going to keep ogling my boyfriend or invite us in?” Dean teased. Hermione opened the door and gestured for them to come inside. “Boyfriend?” she mouthed to Dean, who shrugged.

“It’s new.”

“Four months isn’t new,” Blaise said from the living area.

Hermione ticked off the morning routine on her fingers.

“Hair, teeth, clothes, nappy, bottle—“

“Those last two are for the baby, yes?” Blaise asked with mock innocence. Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Keep talking to me like that and you’ll be needing a nappy once I’m finished with you.”

Blaise held his hands up in surrender and Dean chuckled. He darted into the kitchen and said,

“I’ll get the bottle, you just do whatever you need to do.”

Hermione took the stairs to her bedroom two at a time. Chief Healer Battlehunt expected her at 9:30 and she couldn’t be late. After all, the sooner she got to work, the sooner she could be back home. She pulled her shirt over her head, grabbed a clean one from the closet, and it caught on the wand in her hair when she tried to pull it over her head. She stuffed the wand in her back pocket, pulled the shirt down, and grabbed her lime-green Healer robe.

She turned back to the centre of her room and yelped, “Oi!” when she saw Blaise Zabini in the doorway. He walked over to the crib and peered inside. He looked rather fond, actually, which took Hermione by surprise. Scorpius was in the process of waking up, alternately blinking and yawning. Blaise smiled an honest-to-Merlin smile.

“Do you mind if I hold him?”

“Be careful,” Hermione said as she darted past to her bathroom, “Tell me the time?”

“9:07.”

_I can do this. I can definitely do this. It’s only four hours. I can be away from Scorp for four hours._

She brushed her teeth, washed her face, and brushed her hair back into a tamer ponytail.

“9:12,” Blaise announced when Hermione came out of the bathroom. “Welcome back to civilization,” he commented at her reappearance. Hermione paid him little mind as she was focused on Scorpius making small noises in Blaise’s ear. He held Scorpius against his shoulder like it was well-practiced.

“Dean didn’t tell me you were coming,” she said.

“I invited myself along,” Blaise admitted. “He finds it rather difficult to tell me no.”

“He never mentioned you,” Hermione said.

“And what possible reason could there be for him to keep our relationship hidden?” Blaise deadpanned. “Try not to strain yourself working out the answer.”

_Oh._

“It’s 9:14.”

“Shit,” Hermione mumbled. She motioned for Blaise to follow her downstairs. She looked back the whole way down, irrationally terrified he would slip and fall with Scorpius in his arms. Dean met them at the bottom of the steps with a warm bottle and a look on his face Hermione could only term, “love-struck.” At the sight of his boyfriend holding a baby, Dean said,

“Marry me right now.”

“I would, but our little star here hardly counts as a witness,” Blaise smiled back. Hermione looked between the two of them and said,

“You two are so in love it’s disgusting.”

“Hermione’s just jealous,” Dean told the baby in Blaise’s arms. He asked, “What’s his name?”

“Scorpius.”

Blaise made a noise of approval.

“He looks well cared for,” Blaise observed. “Dean is great with kids because he has twenty-four younger sisters.” Blaise handed Scorp off to Dean and Hermione’s heart fell all the way to her stomach during the transfer.

“I have seven younger sisters,” Dean corrected. Blaise shrugged like he saw little difference. Hermione turned to him and said,

“I don’t know you. If Dean trusts you, I trust you, but if you so much as look at Scorp the wrong way I swear on Merlin’s grave that I will stuff your wand so far up your arse you’ll cast a spell each time you sneeze.”

“Understood,” Blaise replied.

“It’s 9:20, Hermione, so unless you want to keep talking about my boyfriend’s arse—“

“Yes, yes, I’m going …” She took one last look at Scorpius and said, “I don’t really have to go. I can stay.”

“Hermione—“

“I haven’t left him at all since he wound up with me.”

“It’s four hours, Hermione,” Dean insisted quietly. “I promise Scorpius will be here and healthy when you get back.”

“Okay, okay,” she nodded and Apparated before she could consider staying any longer. She ran into St. Mungo’s and met with Chief Healer Battlehunt at 9:28. She smiled at the clock and said,

“I am here on time, sir.”

He raised a quizzical eyebrow and looked down. Hermione followed his gaze and promptly smacked a hand to her forehead, realizing she forgot to change one particular part of her outfit.

“Jeans, Miss Granger?”


	5. A Mutual Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time goes by and Scorpius continues to be adorable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 8/2/2018: The final 500 or so words of this chapter were taken from the beginning of Chapter 6. Additional minor edits made to the original chapter text.

Four hours seemed like twelve. Hermione checked the clock at least once every fifteen minutes, willing it to finally read 1:30. Things had remained steady during her ten-day absence. Tamsin Applebee walked in for his appointment an hour after she arrived. Trisha Buttermere had perfected Hermione’s most successful trial potion by subbing Shrivelfig in for Dittany. The burns disappeared overnight and Hermione was pleased by that development.

She Apparated home at 1:31 and opened the door to Blaise and Dean having a whisper-shouted argument. Hermione stood quietly in the doorway waiting to be noticed.

“No,” Blaise said from the couch. “If she wanted to know, she would know.”

“But—“

“Dean, if I had not told you it would have taken you five seconds to realize it. Why do you believe the smartest witch in generations has yet to figure it out?”

“I don’t understand why the two of you haven’t told her!”

“This is the best we can do given the circumstances, and you know I am right otherwise you would have told her this morning when you had the chance.”

“Told me what?” Hermione demanded as she stepped into the living area. Dean looked like a six-year-old who got caught stealing sweets but Blaise only smiled.

“That we have a pool going on the baby’s father.”

Hermione nearly bought it. The lie was seamless, yet Dean stood in the middle of the living room with his arms crossed, unable to meet her gaze. Something was off ... Something …

“You know something. Where is my s—Scorpius?” Hermione asked. Both Blaise and Dean smiled at the near-slip.

“Napping upstairs,” Dean said. “We had a lovely time. One change, one feeding, and a couple hours of holding him before nap time. How was work?”

“Long,” Hermione answered, the whispered argument slipping further to the back of her mind. “They are doing much better than I thought they would. I thought the world would fall apart if I wasn’t there, but they were fine and I spent the entire time counting the minutes until I could get back here.”

“Are you okay?” Dean asked, concerned. “If you need any help at all I can be here any time. I helped my mum, then Gin and Harry, and I enjoy it.”

“Thanks, Dean, you don’t know how much it means to have you here. It’s been awhile since I’ve had anyone just want to be around.” She paused because that was a gloomy observation. “But I really don’t want to pay anyone to watch Scorpius. That feels wrong.”

“I’m your friend, I’ll do it for free,” he shrugged. Dean lowered his voice and said, “Plus, Blaise is drowning in Galleons. Trust me, I am doing just fine.”

“Enjoy being my trophy boyfriend, do you?” Blaise asked from his place on the couch. Dean turned and asked,

“How the hell did you hear that?”

“I didn’t, but your face goes pink when you talk about my money,” Blaise teased with more affection than Hermione would have ever believed he was capable. She looked between the two of them and asked,

“You two sound like you want to cross wands right there on my couch.”

“Absolutely not,” Blaise said as he stood and wrapped an arm around Dean’s waist. “I’ll take him home first; the bed is more comfortable.”

Dean pushed Blaise’s arm off and the mood shifted instantly. “You can’t just say things like that!”

“Granger’s your friend,” Blaise insisted. “She doesn’t mind.”

“You can’t assume that!” Dean huffed. Hermione was getting very frustrated by people talking about her like she wasn’t present.

“She would have said something—“

“I am right here!”

“Thank you, Hermione, for trusting me with Scorpius,” Dean cut them off. “I will be back next Wednesday. I am going back to my flat alone.” He punctuated that last word. Dean walked out the door and Apparated, leaving Blaise behind with a very confused Hermione.

“Did you two just have a domestic?”

Blaise sighed and shrugged.

“It happens sometimes. One of his sisters let slip that he was dating a man and his mother did not take it well. She said some things she should not have said so he is still cautious about certain things.”

“Cautious?” Hermione laughed. “Today was you two being cautious?”

“No, he is fairly open about us around his wizard friends. The ones he has told, anyway. Potter’s wife wanted to throw us a party. He is usually fine unless we are around his Muggle friends. I did not realize Dean had a line today. My mistake, I should have asked.”

Hermione stared at him, perplexed.

“You really like him, don’t you?”

“Granger, if I thought for one moment he was serious in his proposal this morning we would have been married three hours ago.”

Blaise said it with such conviction that Hermione could not suppress her smile. She was happy for Dean. That was the sort of love she wanted, one with all the fire she didn’t feel when Ron dropped to one knee.

“I am glad. Dean’s been rather lonely these past couple years.”

“He is not the only one,” Blaise replied. Hermione had the sinking suspicion he was not referring to himself. She replied,

“You’re not the sort of person I believed you to be.”

Blaise got an odd look on his face just then, almost like relief.

“You are doing an exceptional job with Scorpius, Hermione. You are treating him like family when you had no reason to. You are exactly the sort of person I thought you were.”

**.oOo.**

Hermione’s parents visited again on Sunday. Dean showed up with Blaise on Wednesday and everything seemed to revolve around those two days. As life with Scorpius progressed, Hermione realized baby milestones were of the small variety.

She started their favourite activity when Scorpius was five weeks old. For a half hour each day, Hermione would lie on the couch with Scorpius on her stomach. She would catch up on reading, commenting to Scorpius as she went along. His favourites seemed to be _Loony Nonby v.s. Cornish Pixie_ and _Witch Weekly_. Hermione assumed the bright colours caught his eye.

“Listen, little star, if I have anything to say about it you will never end up in _Witch Weekly_. Every witch in Britain reads this rubbish, along with a fair portion of the wizards. It’s pretty to look at, but once you get caught between their pages it is impossible to escape. I do an interview every couple months, otherwise they’ll start running articles about how I’m having an affair with Ronald or, even more ridiculous, Harry.”

Week six was the roughest of them all. Not because anything happened to Scorpius, thank Merlin, but because someone else _knew_ about him. Living in a Muggle neighborhood had the benefit of having no wizards to bother them. No reminders of a war everyone around Hermione knew nothing about.

Hermione took Scorpius for a stroll in the park on warmer days. The first time was a tad stressful for both of them, as Scorp cried until Hermione put his green blanket in the carriage. It was nice to leave the house, though, and they learned to enjoy the trips because of the fresh air and new people.

Hermione mingled with some of the Muggle women. Many of them took one look at Scorpius and said something like, “He is adorable! Look at that blonde hair!” Scorpius, for his part, loved the attention. His hair had gotten marginally thicker but somehow also much lighter. So bright it was nearly white and he was a preternaturally pale baby. Half the time Hermione was surprised he didn’t glow in the dark.

As she walked past the bandstand, a jogger about Hermione’s age stopped her for a chat. The young woman looked rather familiar, but Hermione was a little distracted by her sports bra and tight spandex capris that left little to the imagination. She was sweaty and hair was falling out of her ponytail, but she still managed to look effortlessly pretty.

_Taking care of Scorp, I can hardly even keep up with the laundry. Then again, even when I didn’t have a baby to look after I still didn’t look like that._

They spoke about weather, food, the usual fare. She peeked into the carriage, and Scorp smiled at her. (Hermione was pretty sure the smiles were intentional. He’d been smiling every time he saw her over the past week so she hoped they were.) The jogger called him “darling” and asked,

“Where’s his father?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione shrugged. “I don’t know who his father is.” Which Hermione quickly realized was the worst possible answer to that question.

“You are going through all of this alone?!”

“Well, yes, I don’t want to bring anyone else into Scorp’s life until I find his father.” A nearby couple shot them questioning glares. “He’s adopted!” Hermione added, probably louder than necessary.

“Oh! Well that make sense; he looks nothing like you.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Well, I have to dash! Date tonight,” she winked. “But we have a mutual friend who said you may be in need of my services.” She snapped her fingers and a business card appeared as she gave Hermione a quick once-over. “Hate to agree, but …” She shrugged, handed the card to Hermione, and then ran off before Hermione had a chance to respond. Hermione stared at the card, dumbfounded.

** Romilda Vane **

Personal Stylist

127 ½ New Bond Street, London

BAO

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“You know, Scorp, my life was a lot less interesting before you fell into it.”

**.oOo.**

On the morning of July 12th, Blaise and Dean showed up bearing gifts. Hermione felt no need to protest because other than her parents, Dean and Blaise were the only family Scorpius had. If they wanted to help out she would not say no. The baby swing wound up being quite useful, and when Hermione returned from St. Mungo’s Dean had put Scorpius in a West Ham United onesie.

By the time Scorpius hit the two-month mark, he could spend five minutes on his stomach and lift his head a little bit. His eyes sparkled with recognition when he saw Hermione and her heart did a little flutter each time it happened. Mrs. Granger kept referring to Scorp as her “grandson,” and Hermione found it didn’t bother her as much as it used to.

Hermione started reading books to Scorpius around week nine. Her parents brought over _Paddington_ along with _The Very Hungry Caterpillar_ and _The Cat in the Hat_. In addition to reading her own books every day, Hermione read one of them aloud as Scorp bounced next to her in his swing.

Then came week ten, and after six weeks of their routine it was normal to have Blaise, Dean, and the Grangers around the house. Their absence was keenly felt. Their presence was how Hermione tracked the days and weeks as they passed by. Ginny promised to visit in a couple weeks, and Hermione hadn’t seen Ginny since being thrown headfirst into temporary parenthood.

_Because it is temporary … Right?_

When Hermione returned from work on August 2nd, she heard faint chords from _Evita_ as Dean straightened up furniture in the living area. Blaise, on the other hand, was eating a sandwich in the kitchen.

“You have nothing in your cupboards. Do you survive on baby food?” he asked between bites.

“I get takeaway, and there was food in there until you two came over.”

“Speaking of food, Granger, we want to invite you and your parents over for dinner.”

Hermione looked at him, confused.

“Sorry, what?”

“The twelfth, you and your family over at my flat for dinner.”

“Why?”

“Scorpius is part of our family now,” Blaise said. He nodded to the living area and lowered his voice. “Scorpius makes him happy and you welcomed us into his life, so I want to repay you for that.”

“And my parents?”

“You went to them for help and they helped.” Blaise shrugged. “Not everyone has people like that.”

“Speaking of people …” Hermione fished Romilda’s card from her back pocket. “I suspect you are our mutual friend?”

Blaise smiled and laughed.

“She wanted a famous wizard to dress and I suggested you. Not as an insult, Granger, don’t look at me like that,” Blaise said noting Hermione’s sour expression. “You do not have a lot of free time right now but it does not mean you should neglect yourself. You aren’t putting effort into your wardrobe, though I doubt we have Scorpius to blame for that.”

“There is nothing wrong with my clothes!” Hermione insisted.

“There is no fun in them either,” Blaise replied. “You aren’t hurting for Galleons, Granger. One day you will find someone that will make a good father for Scorpius, and you will want to impress him.” Blaise had a smug look on his face, aware Hermione knew he wasn’t telling her everything. She was too proud to ask what he was hiding.

“I have no desire to impress anyone right now,” Hermione shot back.

“Now, certainly, but one day soon I don’t think you will be able to say that. What about when you find Scorpius’s family? Perhaps you would do well to present yourself the way Dean and your friends see you. Romilda’s job is to make this part of your life easier, and at least something in your life should be easy right now. She can fill an entire conversation by herself, do all the work for you.”

He was genuinely concerned and Hermione was almost touched by it. She’d known enough Slytherins in her life to know there was an ulterior motive.

“Dean’s making you soft,” she teased.

Blaise shook his head and replied, “No, Scorpius is.”

**.oOo.**

That is how Hermione ended up outside 127 New Bond Street one week later. There was no half; the numbers went 126, 127, 128. She approached 127, a high-end jewelry store, and once inside she heard a loud,

“Hermione Granger!”

She turned to face a perfectly-poised Romilda Vane. Tight dark curls bounced around her face as she walked over and looped her arm through Hermione’s. She steered them over to a wall and walked through it to reveal a brightly-lit salon. Romilda motioned for Hermione to sit on one white armchair while she took the one across from it.

“This is a nice place,” Hermione commented.

“I love it, especially for the Muggle clientele. I walk them through the wall and they are so impressed they come back for the experience alone.”

“What do you tell them?”

“The truth,” Romilda winked. “It’s a magic trick.”

She always thought of Romilda as, well, a little hussy. Everything she wore was so tight and everyone in school seemed to have a story about her. Then there was the debacle with Harry, Ron, and the love potion … However, looking at her just then it was easy to see how a man could get swept up in her glow. Her trousers fit tight around her bum and her blouse was just low enough to tease someone into looking. She didn’t look slutty, she looked _good_.

“I, um, don’t know how this works,” Hermione admitted. “I pay and then you go find me clothes or …?” Romilda laughed.

“Drop my name in your next _Witch Weekly_ interview and the consult is free. You’re good for another five clients at minimum. Hell, I should be paying you.”

“Clothes aren’t exactly my area,” Hermione said. “I can put things together, I just never have the time.”

“So tell me, why are you here? What about the bland cardigans, basic trainers, and single-tone trousers no longer pleases you?”

“Well, that you call them bland and basic, for one—“

“Excellent!” Romilda clapped her hands together in excitement. “You want to look interesting, is that it?” Hermione nodded, a little hesitant, but it was good enough.

“Fantastic! Finally reflect your personality, yeah?”

“Well, I’m taking care of a baby so it’s not like I have a lot of opportunity—“

“Nonsense! Blaise even said you’re going to his flat for dinner on Saturday. You have plans, you need clothes, and I am here to provide. Tell me what you do! For work, for fun, anything, everything!”

“Oh, well I work at St. Mungo’s in the Maeve Ward—“

“No way!” Romilda cut her off. “You heal people? How the hell are you still single?”

“Well, like I said, I’m caring for a baby, so that’s most of my time. Trousers and flats are required at St. Mungo’s, as are our bright green Healer robes which don’t go with much of anything.” Romilda’s face pinched at the words “bright green.”

“Anything is possible, Hermione.”

They ran through a series of questions, Romilda promising each one helped to paint a bigger picture of what Hermione wanted. Once finished, Romilda motioned for Hermione to stand on the dais. She magicked Hermione’s clothes off so she was standing there in nothing but her knickers. A yellow measuring tape wove its way around Hermione, nudging her this way and that, wrapping around her as a Quick Quotes Quill jotted down the numbers on a levitating notebook.

“How do you know Blaise?” Hermione asked, the tape whirring around to places she would’ve never thought needed to be measured.

“I used to work at Twilfitt and Tattings and Blaise owns the store. He bought it shortly after he graduated because his mum died. All that money and not much to do with it. Great boss, though. He paid well and he cared. Still does and I’ve been doing this for six months. One of the most decent people you’ll ever meet and he’s lovely to look at. Blaise loves clothes and sewing, does needlepoint in his free time, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

“He’s different from what I thought he’d be,” Hermione admitted.

“Well, he’s a sneaky bastard so you can never be a hundred percent certain with him. But he has a boyfriend now. Poor Dean, I hope he can cope with how mopey Blaise can be.”

“You think Blaise is mopey?” Hermione asked. Gorgeous, sarcastic, wealthy, head-over-heels for Dean Thomas … But mopey? Not so much.

“Ever since Draco left the country,” Romilda nodded. “Nearly a year ago, now. He’s been handling all Draco’s affairs while he’s off doing Merlin only knows what in America. That’s his best friend, you know. I think they were a thing once but Blaise refuses to tell me shit about it. I could sooner break into a vault at Gringotts than get one thing about Draco Malfoy out of Blaise.”

_Is Blaise a Secret-Keeper for Malfoy?_

“That’s, um, interesting …” Hermione started to sweat a bit.

“I am happy for him, though. Without Draco, his only family is Lady Narcissa. She’s been a right bitch since Draco left, let me tell you. She’d come into the shop and just demand things, snap at everyone even when they did exactly as she asked. She took a dive after her husband died, of course, but Draco was there to help keep her in good spirits. Now he is gone and she’s alone. Lady Narcissa and Blaise are two peas in one very lonely pod.”

Hermione understood what Blaise meant when he said Romilda could carry a conversation.

“Why did Malfoy leave?”

“Dunno,” Romilda shrugged as the tape measure fluttered back down to the dais. She grabbed the notebook and perused the measurements. “Blaise won’t tell me. Said it’s important, though.”

“I’ve hardly thought about Draco Malfoy in years,” Hermione observed. Romilda stifled a chuckle.

“Enough about men!” she announced. “It’s time to go shopping!”

When Romilda Vane said “shopping,” it was not the traditional definition of the word. She was very good about respecting boundaries but still took Hermione a couple steps outside her comfort zone. Hermione found it was nice to put all the questions surrounding Scorpius to the back of her mind, and get lost in the repetition of sales clerk questions and credit card swipes.

“Your wardrobe,” Romilda explained, “is essentially a large puzzle. The problem is you don’t have the proper pieces. Though I must admit lime green is a challenge, even for me. You should really talk to St. Mungo’s about that. Perhaps a light blue or I could even work with a forest green. Pale green, mint, pistachio, teal, or cyan for Merlin’s sake! Anything but lime green!”

Hermione had no intention of suggesting it, though imagining the look on Chief Healer Battlehunt’s face was amusing. Romilda was an interesting person, much to Hermione’s surprise. She did all the Pounds-to-Galleons conversions in her head and marked the total at the bottom of each receipt. She was also unflinchingly honest, telling Hermione that something did not fit properly or made her look like “an elderly seventeenth-century witch who lost her glasses.”

Once they returned to the salon, Romilda flung their purchases into two piles: launder and tailor.

“I have a bit of a tailoring backlog, so I’ll send some of it out and get to yours straightaway. The rest of it,” she pointed to the comparatively small “launder” pile, “I’ll have cleaned and sent to you on Friday.”

“Oh, no, I don’t want to be a burden to your other clients,” Hermione said. Romilda laughed.

“You still don’t get it. Hermione, _Witch Weekly_ will interview you in, what, a month or so? You’ll walk in and they’ll compliment your clothes. When they ask where you got them, you’ll recount shopping in Muggle London with your personal stylist, Romilda Vane. I’ll have to start booking appointments weeks in advance and up my consulting fee because now I get to say I style the one-and-only Hermione Granger!

“Even more importantly, Blaise sent me to you. He cares about the people he likes and he’s obviously taken a liking to you. I quit working for him to become a stylist and most bosses would cut ties at that point. Instead, Blaise bankrolled my loan for this place and trusted me enough to do this for you. I owe him so much, the least I can do is hand-tailor your things. You were referred by the best so you get the best, end of discussion.”

True to her timetable, Hermione’s box of freshly-laundered clothes was delivered by owl on Friday afternoon. Even hanging the garments in her closet seemed to shame the old clothes next to them. When she gave Scorpius a tour of her new-and-improved wardrobe, he gravitated to the brightest thing in her closet: a red Gryffindor Quidditch hoodie. Hermione laughed.

“We’ll make a Gryffindor out of you, yet.”


	6. Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ain't nothin' but a family thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> August 2nd, 2018: The beginning of chapter 7 was cut and added to the end of this chapter. Minor changes made to the original chapter text.

Hermione’s parents picked her up an hour before they were slated to arrive at dinner on Saturday. Both her parents took a stunned step backward when she answered the door. She’d tried to keep her outfit simple, just a purple blouse with black trim and high-waisted black trousers. Nothing audacious, but as her mother put it, “Not a cardigan!”

Scorpius hated car rides. He’d begun to sleep much less, which meant he was awake for the whole ride to Blaise’s flat. Mrs. Granger balked at the idea of Hermione Apparating with Scorpius, going through a Portkey, or taking him through the Floo. (“You want to take your baby into fire? Are you mad?!”) They were doomed to car rides with a fussy baby.

Blaise lived in central London, because of course he would buy a flat in the most expensive and inconvenient location. They had to park blocks away and Mrs. Granger nearly had a fit because they arrived five minutes late. Scorpius hated it even more than the car ride, strapped into a baby harness against Hermione’s chest. The noise and chaos of London streets was overwhelming, and instead of crying he buried himself in Hermione’s front to lessen the sensory input.

Once they arrived, Dean opened the door to reveal the entire Granger family. Hermione smiled sheepishly and said,

“Hi!”

“Good to see you, Hermione,” Dean said, but something was off. His demeanor wasn’t as open or friendly as usual. He almost looked nervous, but Hermione presumed she was reading him wrong. “I assume these are your parents?”

“This is my mum, Abigail, and my father, Jack,” she introduced them. “And you know Scorp already,” she teased.

“Oh, we are so delighted to meet you!” Mrs. Granger went in for a hug and caught Dean off-guard. He gave her a warm pat on the back. “We are so happy to meet more of Hermione’s friends!”

Then she shoved a small bouquet of multi-coloured toothbrushes and toothpastes into Dean’s hands. He looked at it, very confused.

“It’s a gift. You’re not supposed to show up to someone’s home without a gift,” Hermione said. When Dean still looked perplexed she added, “They’re dentists.”

“Oh!” he chuckled. “I thought you might be hinting my breath smelled or something.”

“I’ve changed so many nappies, my nose is blind to most other scents,” Hermione replied. She sniffed and said, “Oh, but whatever that is, it smells glorious.”

Dean stepped to the side and gestured for them to enter. Hermione and her mother made their way toward the dining room but her father hung back. She’d never confess to overhearing it, but,

“Dean, is it?”

“Yessir.”

“If you don’t mind me saying so, you seem a wee bit tense.”

“This is,” Dean nervously cleared his throat, “not something we’ve done before. Having new people over, together, I mean …”

“Dean, I’ve watched my daughter turn a cat into a teaspoon. I’ve had letters delivered to my house by owl, had my memory altered, and now I am helping my daughter take care of a baby someone left on her doorstep. Two men in love is nowhere near the strangest thing I’ve seen. Now, tell me what, exactly, you two have cooking. It smells divine.”

And that was it. Dean led Mr. Granger into the dining area where Hermione busied herself looking anywhere else.

“What a lovely home,” Mrs. Granger commented. The place was an excellent find, if sparsely furnished. The dining area had tall glass windows offering a spectacular view of the city. The five of them hovered around the table set for six. (Well, set for five and a baby.) There was a small high chair next to what must be Dean’s spot at the left of the head of the table.

“Blaise would want me to tell you he considers this a vacation home and his preferred residence is the house in Modena. Oh! Hermione you must see this,” Dean said as he demonstrated the various parts of Scorpius’s high chair. It was black and chrome-coloured, and adjusted to different positions to be suitable for any age. Dean had it in “cradle mode,” but lifted the basket so Hermione could see Scorpius’s name emblazoned on the back.

Hermione was speechless. It was just a chair, but it was a chair in their house, made expressly for her baby. It all sort of came together then; in two months they had become a patchwork family.

“We must get one for your place, it’s a total upgrade,” Dean insisted. Hermione handed Scorp to Dean and quickly scanned the rest of the flat. There was a television in the living area, which surprised Hermione because Blaise was not one to indulge in many Muggle conveniences. The couch and armchairs were grey and minimal, and the only objects of sentimental value were a few pictures on the shelf next to the telly.

Hermione was pulled from her thoughts by Blaise’s entrance. He introduced himself to her parents then turned to Hermione with a very satisfied grin.

“I never doubted her,” he said, taking in Hermione’s appearance. “You pulled your hair into a nice bun and everything! See? Now you look almost as impressive as you are.”

“Almost?”

“You crawl before you walk,” Blaise replied. He motioned for them to sit at the table and announced,

“Dinner is served.”

Blaise had made tortellini, lobster, and this dessert of peaches and almonds that was so delicious it could end wars. Poor Scorpius was relegated to his bottle of milk.

“Blaise, what do you do for a living?” Mrs. Granger asked.

“I own a clothing shop in Diagon Alley, one restaurant here in London and another in Modena.”

“Which clothing shop, dear?” Mrs. Granger asked.

“Twilfitt and Tattings,” Blaise replied. “It is next door to—“

“Oh, yes! The high-end one, of course. A fine establishment, I am sure. Do you make the clothes yourself?”

Blaise nodded.

“Yes, me and my staff of five make everything in-house. I love it, I love sewing and listening to the customer chatter. Before Dean, I’d say it felt more like my home than anywhere else.”

_Aw._

Hermione noticed a pink undertone flush on Dean’s cheeks.

“I tell my Muggle friends he works in food and clothes, but he doesn’t think that sounds posh enough,” Dean translated. Blaise glared at him in response.

“It does not sound as impressive,” he agreed. “Plus I have to deal with all of Draco’s—“ He stopped suddenly and went stone-still for a moment, having made an uncharacteristic slip.

Then Mrs. Granger managed to make it even worse.

“Tell us about your family.”

“You’re looking at it,” Blaise replied rather stiffly.

“I mean your parents.”

“There is my dead mother, the eight husbands she killed for their money, and an unknown father,” Blaise quipped. Mrs. Granger blanched as he stabbed his fork just a little too hard into a peach.

“Hermione never mentioned you when she was younger,” Mr. Granger said.

“She had no good reason to,” Blaise replied.

“Yes,” Hermione admitted. “Blaise’s best friend was Draco Malfoy. We, um, did not often cross paths and when we did it was never pleasant.”

The mood took a nosedive and Hermione felt like an idiot. She should have warned her parents not to ask about Blaise’s family.

_Oh no, what if they ask about—_

“How about you, Dean?” Mrs. Granger asked, seemingly confident his answer could be no worse than Blaise’s. “How about your parents?”

Hermione could have kicked herself, but settled for covering her face and groaning in embarrassment. Dean took it in stride.

“My father left when I was little, killed by Death Eaters during the first war, we expect. I was raised as a Muggle until I got my Hogwarts letter. My mum and I are a bit … distant right now, but she’ll come ‘round. Scorpius, of course, is part of our family now, too. We want to thank you for helping Hermione take care of him.”

“This peach thing did the trick!” Mr. Granger swooped in with a blessed change of subject. “Where did you learn to cook, son?”

“Modena,” Blaise replied. “My mother was Italian, as am I. My mum moved to England for a year while she was married to husband #1, which is where I met Draco and his family. The rest of my life was spent in Italy. My mother was, busy, I suppose you could say. I did not have much to do on summer holidays so I learned to cook.”

“Well done,” Mr. Granger nodded.

“Oh!” Dean said, standing up from his chair. “Let me show you the television. It’s nice; got it hooked up so I can watch all the West Ham United matches. It drives Blaise up a wall, but he loves me too much to get rid of it.” Dean led them all to the living area. Blaise scooped Scorpius out of his high chair and followed soon after.

While Dean flipped through channels for Mr. Granger, Hermione’s mother leaned in to look at the photos on Blaise’s shelves.

“Who are these people? Friends of yours?”

“Those are my best mates, taken in fifth year before everything … happened.” Which Hermione supposed was the most delicate way to put it. “That’s Bastien, Theo, me, and Draco.”

Hermione leaned closer to see the four of them on what had to be a late-term visit to Hogsmeade. They were all smiling at the camera, apparently making jokes to each other as they moved ever-so-slightly within the frame. Hermione leaned closer and something swept over her. Something that felt like unbridled terror.

“Hang on, you said that one there? That’s Draco Malfoy?” Mrs. Granger pointed, “ You said  that one right there is Draco Malfoy?”

“Yes,” Blaise confirmed.

Hermione didn’t need that confirmation. She looked at Draco, moving in the photo with his arm tight around Blaise’s shoulders and an honest-to-Merlin smile on his face. A face Hermione had never seen without it being contorted in fear or disgust or hatred. Or that one blessed time she punched it.

She looked from Draco to the baby in Blaise’s arms. Those eyes and that hair were unmistakable. She looked at the photo once more, looked back at Scorpius, and mumbled,

“Oh my God.”

_Oh my God. Merlin’s fucking pants!_

Hermione collapsed onto one of the armchairs and rested her head between her knees. Her breath came in short bursts, like something heavy was sitting on her chest.

_How the hell could I have been so blind?_

“Looks just like his father, doesn’t he?” Blaise asked Mrs. Granger with a smile.

“I’ll say,” she replied. Without lifting her head, Hermione asked,

“Scorpius Draco Malfoy. That’s his name, isn’t it?”

“Welcome to the party, Granger,” Blaise said as he handed Scorp to Hermione’s mother. “She’s probably about to attack me, best get him out of the way.”

Hermione had her wand beneath Blaise’s chin the very moment Scorpius was out of his hands.

“Give me one reason not to kill you for lying to me!” she shouted.

“Well, it’d make Dean pretty unhappy. And I never lied to you.”

“Sin of omission,” Hermione countered.

“Blaise, I love you, but I am with Hermione on this one. I told you to tell her and I will gladly be staying on this side of her wand.”

Blaise rolled his eyes.

“Your love is truly overwhelming me right now, Dean,” Blaise replied facetiously before returning his attention to Hermione. “You know you cannot kill me, Granger. I know something you need to know. You have worked that much out by now.”

“Doesn’t mean I won’t hex your bollocks off before you tell me.”

“It may have been awhile for you, Granger, but if that is your intent you are looking in the wrong direction. And I may also say, again, Dean would be very unhappy about that.”

“Malfoy should have told you I don’t need to point my wand at something to make it disappear.”

The colour drained from Blaise’s face.

“If I had told you, what would you have done? We were afraid you would not want Scorpius any longer. You did not realize Draco is the father because you did not want to know.”

“I had the right to know!” Hermione shouted at him.

“On what grounds?!” Blaise asked.

“I’m his mother!”

The hand holding Hermione’s wand fell back to her side but her rage did not settle. They agreed Blaise would meet Hermione at her house, so she could cool down on the ride back.

On their way out Dean said, “Well, I suppose that could’ve gone worse.”

**.oOo.**

Hermione insisted on riding up front on the way home.

_I can’t look at him right now._

Her father didn’t say much as he drove.

“That was amazing. I am glad you can stand up for yourself, even to your friends.”

“Blaise is not my friend.”

“Yes he is, honey. Given what I know of the Malfoy boy, you would not have looked at Scorpius the same way if you had known. Maybe that’s why you refused to see it for so long, because I think you knew from the off. You never shy away from a true challenge, and this is a great one.”

Hermione hated that her father was right. She didn’t say anything for the remainder of the ride. When they pulled up to her house, Blaise was on her porch … With Harry?

“Mum, follow me in and put Scorp to bed, please. Dad, thank you for coming.”

After her mother left, Harry and Blaise were seated on the couch across from Hermione. She said,

“I know you’re a Secret-Keeper for Malfoy.”

Blaise shook his head and Harry said, “That’s why I’m here. He is, erm, he is a Secret-Keeper for me.”

_Wait, what?_

“The only reason I am telling you is because of you role in Scorpius’s life,” Blaise said. “I trust you recognize that divulging this information will have dire consequences for his family. Potter, do you object to me continuing this course of action?”

“Not at all,” Harry prodded him to continue.

“Draco works for the Auror office at the Ministry.”

_What?_

“Five years now, mostly assisting with high crimes in the underground. A little over a year ago, the office got word of some Voldemort loyalists in America. Seems they were on the hunt for a very powerful Time-Turner to either go back and kill Harry, or bring Voldemort forward into the present.

“Draco volunteered to go undercover. These ‘loyalists’ never met the Dark Lord, never served under him, but they adopted the ideology. Draco went in under the guise of a Death Eater and offered to lead them as someone who never fully converted to the new ways. He has been delivering monthly updates about their progress, and they are close to something.”

That was a frightening notion. All the rage Hermione built up on the drive over morphed back into terror. The world was in the hands of Draco Malfoy and that did not inspire confidence. Her veins turned to ice as she realized everything she, Harry, and Ron had fought for was at stake. She only half-listened as Blaise continued.

“His mother does not know. Outside of myself, Harry, and now you … No one knows. Draco does not know about Scorpius. He left shortly after whatever dalliance he had with Astoria and we cannot pull him out. You understand, this is too important for me to risk it and it is _killing me_.”

“That’s why you suggested Dean watch Scorpius!” Hermione accused Harry. “You did it so Blaise could come and spy on him!”

“No!” Harry said. “No, of course not. Hermione, you know me better than that. Dean watched James and Al when we needed him. I trust Dean and so do you. It just so happened that Blaise …”

“I saw an opportunity to look after my godson,” Blaise said.

“Your godson?” Hermione asked skeptically. She planned to give Dean that honour anyway, but … “That’s a bit presumptuous.”

“He is Draco’s son,” Blaise insisted, “and it was established long ago that I have the duty to protect the heir to the Malfoy estate. Also, Draco is my best friend and I want to make sure his kid is okay because contrary to whatever the hell you believe about me, Hermione, I care about my friend and I care about his son.”

“Really, Hermione how did you not see it earlier?” Harry implored. “You just didn’t want to know. I knew immediately when you invited me over and I told Blaise because he’s the only one who can contact Malfoy besides me. Whoever left him on your stoop knew what they were doing. They knew you were a good person and would care for him. You have done a fantastic job.”

“What happens when Draco comes back?” Hermione asked.

“Um, you’ll have to work it out,” Harry said.

“Me? And Malfoy? Work it out?” Hermione laughed, hysteric. “Good God, I can’t remember a conversation when one of us wasn’t bleeding at the end of it!”

“You and Draco will come to a compromise,” Blaise said.

“You think Draco Malfoy is going to let a Mudblood care for his child? You have gone mad, Blaise Zabini! We have never agreed on anything ever. He was a total bastard and the only nice thing he ever said to me was, ‘Thank you.’ In fifteen bloody years!”

“You don’t know him, Hermione,” Harry added. “He is different. He’s still a prick, don’t get me wrong—“

“Oi!” Blaise shouted in defense of his friend.

“—but I think he may be more amenable than you think.”

“Well it’s not him so much I have to worry about right now, is it?” Hermione pouted.

“How do you mean?” Harry asked.

Blaise answered, “She must take Scorpius to see Lady Narcissa.”

“Oh,” Harry replied. “That’s a problem.”

**.oOo.**

Scorpius must have been exhausted. Mrs. Granger said he was asleep seconds after she put him in the crib. He was peaceful, looking every inch the opposite of what Hermione felt. Draco Malfoy was the father of her adopted child.

“Volunteered” was the word Hermione couldn’t let go. Draco working for the Auror office might have been some sort of penance. A man trying to right over a decade of wrongs. She could have spun it a dozen ways to fit the narrative of the Malfoy she knew.

But he volunteered? Volunteered to leave his family, his friends? He volunteered for an assignment that would undoubtedly be fatal should he be found out? There was no refuting that. Malfoy saw a problem he was uniquely suited to resolve and decided to risk his life for it. It didn’t absolve him of anything, but Hermione allowed herself to hope Harry was right and Malfoy had changed for the better.

_Not much room for him to go in the other direction._

Looking at Scorpius, Hermione was amazed she was able to be ignorant for so long. His hair and eyes were the giveaway to anyone who saw him, but it wasn’t everything. She recognized Draco in Scorpius’s stubbornness; like each time he refused to go anywhere without his green blanket. Scorp’s top lip dipped ever-so-slightly in the middle, which would no doubt grow into his father’s Cupid’s bow. There appeared to be very little of Astoria in him physically, at least. Scorp had a warm disposition, though. He smiled at bright colours, at Hermione, and anyone who gave him attention. He was happy and that had to come from Astoria.

Hermione expected to feel something different. The knowledge that she was caring for Draco Malfoy’s son should have made her hate Scorpius, but instead Hermione felt duty-bound to love him. To show him what family should be like because Draco might not be able to do it. Scorpius Malfoy was Hermione’s son in all but name.

She patted his blanket and said,

“Little Malfoy, your father is a rotten git, but if you brought my parents and I together perhaps you can work this miracle, too.”


	7. Lady Narcissa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To grandma's house, we go!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JusticeForYadi, who requested this fic, is my little sister. She FaceTimes and harangues me for new chapters. As I was working on the ending of this one, she called to ask when we would meet "Lady Narcissist" and I thought it was hilarious.
> 
> 8/2/2018: The beginning of chapter 8 was cut and inserted at the end of this chapter. Not-insignificant changes were made to the original chapter text.

“That is definitely Draco Malfoy’s baby.” Ginny said.

Her red hair was still long, up in a braided crown around her head. She looked good and she looked happy, yet all Hermione saw in the mirror anymore was a variation of stress. Too little sleep, or worrying about finding Scorp’s father (Rightfully so, it turned out.), or thinking about her impending visit with Narcissa Malfoy, it all felt like too much. How did Ginny have two kids and manage to stay put-together through it? She peered into the crib while Scorpius napped and repeated,

“I can’t believe you have Draco Malfoy’s baby!”

“I know, Gin. I know.”

“How are you coping?”

“Pretty well, I think,” Hermione admitted. “The first couple weeks were rough; I could hardly sleep. But I’ve watched Scorp learn to lift his head and even start to recognize people! I swear he spits his pacifier out every time he’s in Dean’s arms because he expects Dean to have a bottle. I love watching him learn.”

Ginny’s eyes sparkled.

“I meant how are you coping with your baby’s new last name?”

“Oh,” Hermione said. “It doesn’t change anything about Scorpius. I am his parent and it just so happens that I’ve found … the other part of his family.”

“I am so happy to hear you say that. Scorpius couldn’t have ended up with a better person while Malfoy is off doing … Whatever the hell he is doing over in America. But he will come back so what are you going to do when he does?”

Hermione grit her teeth and blew a breath out through her nose.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I have to focus on the logic, because otherwise I consider hexing Draco Malfoy back to the twelfth century. Even if Draco doesn’t want Scorp, he is the Malfoy heir and Draco has no choice in that. Scorp will have to carry that legacy.”

Ginny rested her chin on her hand and murmured, “Hmm…” It never took her long to work up a plan. The efficacy may be in doubt, but a plan nonetheless. “The way I see it, you have two options. Option A: get Malfoy to fall in love with you.”

Hermione laughed out loud.

“I’m serious,” Ginny smiled deviously. “If he wants to keep you in his life you’ll be in his son’s life, too. Just a thought!” she added when Hermione glared at her. Hermione put her wand on the table, afraid she’d snap it in two she was holding it so tightly.

“It doesn’t matter how good-looking he is, I would never—“

“I never said he was good-looking,” Ginny teased.

“Well, he could never tempt me into forgiving him for all the shit he did to me. There is no danger of either of us falling in love.”

“You’d be surprised what he’s like,” Ginny said. “We only knew him when he was trying to be his father. He isn’t like that anymore.”

“Get on with it, please,” Hermione snapped.

“Fine then, Option B: get his mum on your side.”

_Now there’s a thought._

“If she likes you, it makes it easier for Draco to let you in and harder for him to keep you out. For what it’s worth, Malfoy has been to the house a couple times to speak with Harry and you could see that after his father died he became the sort of person he wanted to be. He is still an arrogant prat, but from what Harry tells me he finally got to a point where he isn’t afraid anymore. It looks good on him.”

“You sure you’re not falling for him?” Hermione teased half-heartedly.

“All I’m saying is once Lucius Malfoy died, his son became a different person. Maybe his wife changed, too,” Ginny shrugged.

**.oOo.**

Malfoy Manor looks like the place dreams go to die. Not that it is particularly depressing or ominous, but no matter how hard you work or how much money you make, you will never be able to replicate the opulence of old money. It was a unique mesh of a centuries-long legacy and modern elegance. It whispers that the family has always lived like this, will continue to live like this, and outsiders should stay just that: outside.

This visit wouldn’t be a first impression, per se, but it would be Hermione’s opportunity to introduce herself to Lady Malfoy as the mother of her grandchild. Hermione knew it was pretty well doomed from the start but refused to make it any easier for Lady Malfoy to take Scorpius away. So she got her nails done, broke out her makeup, and Ginny picked out a beautiful pale pink sheath dress for the occasion.

The Grangers took off the last half of Tuesday to drive Hermione and Scorpius to Wiltshire. Scorpius was quite pleased, having listened to _Phantom of the Opera_ and parts of _The Lion King_ , with a much-needed nap sometime between. Hermione, on the other hand, was trying to keep from vomiting onto the car floor. Just the thought of Malfoy Manor made her want to curl up into a ball and stuff herself in the boot. She spent most of the ride staring at her shoes and picking at her fingernails.

“Nearly there, Hermione,” her mother warned from the front seat. Hermione’s stomach seemed to cave in on itself as they approached the gravel driveway. They couldn’t yet see the manor because of the large hedge surrounding it. A minute into their slow approach, Mr. Granger slammed on the brakes.

“What the bloody hell is that?!” he shouted at something in the middle of the road.

“It’s … It’s a white peacock, dear,” Mrs. Granger whispered.

“I didn’t know white peacocks existed,” Mr. Granger replied.

“I told you both,” Hermione said, “their wealth is filthy. Please, turn around. We don’t have to do this, we can come back another day. Just put in _Evita_ and Scorp will be out for another two hours, I promise, please turn around.”

“Honey—“ her father started to say something but—

“Jack, stop talking.” Mrs. Granger turned around in her seat and gave Hermione a withering stare. The kind of stare Hermione hadn’t seen since she broke off her engagement.

“Hermione Jean Granger, you are the brightest witch of your generation. I can’t believe how many times I heard those words when we went to Diagon Alley. You fought in a war and saved a country, perhaps the world at eighteen. Eight years later, do not tell me that one woman can put the fear of God in you like this!”

“Mum …” Hermione trailed off. She couldn’t allow herself to cry, she’d get all splotchy. “You just don’t understand. You don’t know what happened to me in there. It was the worst moment of my life, and she just let it happen …”

“If she tries to take your son away, are you going to just let it happen?”

“No!” Hermione insisted. She swallowed thickly. “No, of course not.”

“Well then go in there and talk to her with your head held high! Remember that the last time you went up against this family, you won.” And with that, Mrs. Granger turned back around and demanded, “Drive.”

The wrought-iron gates swung open once the car approached, a sign Lady Malfoy was expecting them. A large hedge ran alongside the driveway and more white peacocks roamed along the top. It was nearly impossible to tell how vast the grounds of Malfoy Manor were, with all kinds of trees interspersed throughout the garden that disappeared somewhere beyond the horizon. Hermione breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth, willing herself to calm down. Scorpius looked at her with wide, curious eyes. _With Draco’s eyes._ She smiled at Scorp and he smiled back.

Blaise stood out front when they finally reached the manor. Hermione unbuckled Scorpius from his car seat and asked, “You ready, little Malfoy?”

Scorpius smiled again and sneezed. Hermione laughed. She said,

“Thanks, Mum,” before walking up the stairs to Blaise.

“Did your parents tell you they plan to stay at a restaurant in town until we are through? I will get them once we are finished here but I have no idea how long this will take.”

“No pressure,” Hermione said facetiously.

“She is not as bad as you believe her to be,” Blaise insisted. “Just remember one thing: you are his mother now.”

Hermione nodded and Blaise knocked on the door. A house-elf, wrapped in what might have once been a purple tea cozy, answered the door. She nodded to Blaise and turned to Hermione.

“Lady Cissy is expecting you in her study. Follow!”

The elf meant, “Follow me,” but was in too much of a hurry to really get much out. Hermione anxiously looked around for the drawing room, but Blaise interrupted her thoughts.

“They redid the entire wing where the Dark Lord resided during his stay. The room you are looking for is gone.”

“I find it hard to believe Lady Malfoy would allow that,” Hermione said.

“Once Draco’s father died, she did not have much of a say in the matter.”

They spent the rest of the walk down the long hallway in silence. The soles of their shoes smacked loudly against the stone floor and Malfoy Manor still made Hermione’s skin crawl. There were blank squares on the wall where portraits once hung and shouted vile things at her. The manor was desaturated, but not entirely the nightmare Hermione remembered.

The elf led them up a flight of stairs then right into a spacious study. It was nice and airy, with large windows on one wall to let in the afternoon sun. There was what appeared to be a mini apothecary setup tucked into one corner, and Lady Narcissa Malfoy sat in the middle of the room in a blush armchair. There were kings and queens who held themselves with less stature. She was, in a word, regal. Blonde hair, darker than her son’s, was pulled into an elegant chignon and her robes were made of pale blue silk that flowed downward like a river. She wore a ring on a long, delicate chain which dangled to the middle of her chest. Narcissa Malfoy was one of the most beautiful women Hermione had ever seen.

“Welcome, Miss Granger, Blaise. Please sit.” With a wave of her wand, the tray on the table levitated to arm’s length. “Would you like some tea and biscuits?”

Blaise gave Hermione a look which amounted to, _Take the tea and sit the fuck down._

Hermione took a teacup in one hand while holding Scorp in her other arm. She perched delicately on the sofa across from Lady Narcissa, not intending to move Scorpius from her shoulder until it was absolutely necessary. Blaise sat next to her completely relaxed, while Hermione was so terrified her hand shook the teacup. Lady Malfoy seemed rather relaxed and even-tempered, not at all what Hermione expected.

“Blaise has informed me of the reason for your visit,” Lady Malfoy said lazily. “I must confess, I am at a loss as to why you did not come to me earlier. I have known about the child for months.”

“But he’s hardly three months old!” Hermione yelped in surprise. _Not the way to reintroduce yourself. Awesome job, Hermione. Very poised._ Lady Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

“Did you believe you could walk outside with a child who looks like that and I would not hear about it?”

“And what of the press?” Hermione asked, stunned. “Why did you not go to them? Actually, how the hell did you keep this from them?!”

“People were persuaded it was in their best interest to keep this quiet,” Narcissa said. A delicate way to say _bribes_. “Those who were not swayed found themselves in rather unfortunate circumstances. As you can understand, this would have made quite the cover of _Witch Weekly_. The story of a war hero’s sub rosa affair with the Malfoy heir who set off for America the moment he knew she was pregnant. I will not allow my son to be vilified while he is not here to defend himself. And, Blaise, you know if it appeared Draco had relations with Miss Granger, it could compromise him. Of course I kept it from the press!”

Hermione never believed she would see Blaise Zabini surprised, let alone flustered. He sank backward into the couch and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.

“How the hell can you possibly know about that? Potter would never tell you!”

“My son told me,” she said. Hermione rounded on Blaise and whisper-shouted,

“You said you were a Secret-Keeper!”

“Miss Granger,” Narcissa intervened with a bemused smile, “you will find in life and in magic that men can be rather simple. Whomever cast the Fidelius Charm, which Blaise just revealed to be Mr. Potter, confided within him only the secret of whom Draco is working for. Not the course of his actions.”

“So Draco could tell anyone what he is doing? Anyone could tell anyone what Draco is doing?” Hermione said to Blaise, “You two thought you were being so covert, so clever, yet you bungled the whole thing!”

He had his head in his hands.

“Worry not, Blaise, my son is not so thick-headed,” Narcissa chided him good-naturedly. She actually smiled at him rather fondly, not that Blaise could see it. “Draco only tells me he is alive and expects to be home soon.”

“Soon, Lady Malfoy?” Hermione squeaked. “How soon, precisely?”

“Three months,” Blaise replied.

“Well, how long do you plan to sit there before allowing me to meet my grandson?” Lady Malfoy asked, an abrupt change of subject. Hermione’s head snapped up and she wrapped her arm even more tightly around Scorpius.

“Until I have your word you will give him back to me.”

To her surprise, Narcissa smiled.

“Oh, good girl. Yes, you have my word on that.” She reached out and Hermione stood to hand Scorp over. Scorpius went to Narcissa rather easily, no fussing about like normal, no attempt to grab onto Hermione to protect him from someone new.

Narcissa Malfoy held her grandson carefully, almost reverently. She looked older as her equanimity wavered. She smiled at him and said,

“It feels very wrong, holding him before my son does. Yet, it has been a long time since we have had a baby in the manor. I suppose when you are alone as often as I am, you learn to appreciate these things. Lucius and I should have cherished our time with Draco more, but I do not intend to make the same mistake with our grandson. What is his name?”

“Scorpius,” Hermione said. Narcissa looked up at her quizzically.

“You named him after a constellation? You, of all people … You kept to Black family tradition?”

“I … Yes,” Hermione settled in the affirmative. Not that she recognized it was Black tradition at the time. Another clue she had been too happy to overlook. Lady Malfoy looked at Hermione with a small, delighted smile.

“And a second name, then?” she asked, her tone indicating there was a correct answer.

“It would have to be Draco, wouldn’t it?” Hermione said.

“Indeed. Do not think your respect for our traditions has gone unnoticed, especially as you are Muggle-born. I would have expected you to defy them out of spite.”

“You’ll find Hermione isn’t that kind of person,” Blaise said. He glanced toward Hermione and amended, “Not when Scorpius is involved, at any rate.”

“Well, he is a pure Malfoy, and praise Merlin for that.”

“Hermione would object to the use of the word ‘pure’ in regards to her son,” Blaise jumped in before Hermione could. (His words were much classier than the _Please go fuck yourself, Lady Malfoy,_ Hermione intended to deliver.)

“You misunderstand,” Narcissa said, smiling even more sweetly down at the baby in her arms. “The only thing Draco ever wanted was to live up to his father’s expectations. He has provided a Pureblood Malfoy heir. Outside of marriage but Draco never was one to do things precisely as his father desired.”

She sighed.

“Draco can finally let it go. His father’s final wish has been hanging over him for years. Blaise, wait outside for a moment, please. Miss Granger and I have important things to discuss.” Lady Malfoy amended, “Ladies’ things, you understand.”

Blaise rolled his eyes but obliged her. Hermione’s heart raced; she was angry and unprepared to face Narcissa Malfoy alone. She and Blaise hadn’t discussed what to do if separated. Narcissa upended their strategy from the first moment they were in her presence, and that was when Hermione realized how terrifying Narcissa Malfoy could be. They had been played for the fools they were. Once the door to her study closed, Narcissa said,

“I appreciate you bringing Scorpius to me, Miss Granger. You seem rather tense.”

“Of course I am tense! I was tortured downstairs and you just stood there! You and Draco and your husband.” Hermione shouted. Later she would regret being so uncouth, but in the moment she was quite literally out of control with hatred. Her eyes welled with angry tears as she wanted nothing more to snatch her son from Narcissa Malfoy’s arms, run out of the manor, and never look back.

_This isn’t the life I want for me or my son._

Narcissa looked at her, a little hurt.

“I had thought … Well, I was naïve to think that perhaps you had overcome some of your history with our family.”

“I have no fondness for the Malfoys,” Hermione replied.

“And yet, you do.”

Narcissa nodded to Scorpius. His face scrunched up, concerned by the distress in Hermione’s voice. She sighed heavily and asked,

“What must I do to keep my son?”

Narcissa laughed.

“Well, as he is the Malfoy heir, you would have to marry Draco.”

“You are the second person to say that to me like it is a possibility. I do not have the words to say how much I hate that idea,” Hermione said, acid in her tone.

“My son is a handsome man, Miss Granger,” Narcissa teased. “There is no shame in admitting it, nor in admitting you feel something for him. If there is one thing I have learned since the war, feelings may change but their intensity never does. Everything with Lucius was like that; he could set me on fire with a single look. Sometimes it was love, other times rage, but toward the end of his life I think regret won out in both of us.”

Then Narcissa leveled her with a glare fit to spark.

“I want to know why you kept my son out of prison.”

Hermione inhaled sharply.

“Harry Potter owed me a debt, so I understand what compelled him,” Narcissa said. “The Wizengamot brought you to testify because they expected you to damn Draco to life in Azkaban.”

The room was silent for a moment until Scorpius started to cry and Lady Malfoy had a house-elf bring a bottle.

_If I lost Scorpius, my parents would be disappointed in me again. I’d have to wonder whether Draco is giving Scorp the love he needs and the family he deserves. I wouldn’t get to watch him learn to walk, learn to talk …_

Hermione decided honesty was the best way to go.

“Your husband was an evil man, but Draco was never truly wicked. He was a coward and he was malevolent. I knew if Draco went to Azkaban he would never get the chance to prove he could be anything else. Since you know what he is doing in America, I believe you and I agree it is very brave. I made the right choice and I stand by it.”

Narcissa smiled. Not the smile Hermione had seen in the papers, but a genuine smile that said she never expected Hermione to have faith in her son.

“You say my husband was an evil man. Prejudiced, yes, and terrified, but not evil. We have each looked evil in the eyes, you and I,” her gaze went distant for a moment, “and Lucius was not it.”

She looked down at Scorpius and sighed.

“You saved my son and you have cared for my grandson, though you had no reason to do either. There is nothing in this world that could mean any more to me, not even the old ways. You must forgive me, as there are some things about our traditions which are fairly entrenched, but regardless of what Draco decides to pursue, in gratitude I will always consider you the mother of this child.”

Hermione tried to say something, but found her heart seemed to be stuck in her throat. Narcissa removed the chain from around her neck and offered it to Hermione. The ring was comprised of a single ruby with trapezoid-shaped diamonds on either side. It could have been an engagement ring for a lesser legacy, but not the Malfoys.

“I want to offer this to you, as a gift.”

Hermione felt wrong even considering it, but slid the ring onto the middle finger of her right hand to try it out. Before she could protest, Lady Narcissa said,

“That is a Black heirloom, eighteenth century,” Narcissa said, rather somber. “You are technically family now.”

“I … don’t know what to say,” Hermione admitted.

“From everything Draco has told me, that is a rarity,” Lady Narcissa teased.

“What do you get out of this?” Hermione asked, never one to be fooled twice in a conversation.

“Miss Granger, I want Scorpius to have a family and our name is still besmirched from that circus of a trial,” Lady Malfoy said. “I will admit that I am not nearly able to overcome my old prejudices, but Draco is quite taken with the new ways. If you, a Muggle-born war hero, were to raise a Malfoy child it would go a long way with the public to rehabilitate our name. And Merlin knows I could use someone around the manor who isn’t Blaise Zabini.”

She handed Scorpius to Hermione, who held him tightly to her chest. Blaise was right, Narcissa Malfoy was not nearly the terrible person Hermione anticipated she would be. It didn’t absolve her of their past, but Ginny was right, too. Without Lucius Malfoy, the world had changed.

“Scorpius remains with me until Draco returns. And I have your word that when he does, you will do everything in your power to ensure I stay in my son’s life?”

Narcissa nodded.

“You have my word. Now, tell me, when may I visit my grandson?”

**.oOo.**

It was just a ring, nothing more than a peace offering.

Blaise noticed when they left, but said nothing. There was a lot she didn’t understand about Blaise Zabini but he clearly had secrets. Mrs. Granger noticed the ring halfway through the drive back.

“I see she likes you.”

“She needs me,” Hermione countered. “People will hate the Malfoys less if I am connected to their family. If I wasn’t a war hero she wouldn’t let me near her home. The world has changed around Narcissa Malfoy and she is adapting.”

“A ruby that size is more than adapting to circumstances, Hermione. Now, had we turned around or had you walked in there as scared as you thought you were, you wouldn’t have that ring and you might have lost Scorpius down the road because of it. Remember that when his father returns, as well. Never lower yourself to meet their expectations.”

“She said that for me to truly be Scorpius’s mother, as in Malfoy tradition, I would have to marry Draco. I thought that I didn’t care about that, as long as I feel like Scorp’s mother it shouldn’t matter … But what if it does? What if Scorp cares? What if he can’t have a typical life because not everyone considers him a Malfoy and not everyone considers me his mother?”

Mrs. Granger shrugged and said, “Draco looked rather dashing in that photo over at Blaise’s home, don’t you think?”

“Remind me to never put you, Ginny, and Narcissa in the same room,” Hermione quipped.

“Don’t listen to your mother, honey,” Mr. Granger said. “You don’t need to marry that Malfoy boy. I don’t like him, I don’t like the idea one bit. Scorpius already has you and four other people who love him. Five if you count Lady Malfoy. You have already given him more family than his father ever could, and Scorpius will always have people to love and support him. Anyone who doesn’t like that, well, you know exactly where they can stuff their wands.”

Hermione chuckled and glanced at Scorpius napping beside her in his car seat.

“I think Lady Narcissa is lonely,” Hermione admitted. “Oh! I should warn you … She’ll be joining us for dinner on Sunday.”


	8. Move-in Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malfoys belong in Malfoy Manor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 8/3/2018: Significant changes made to the conversation between Hermione and Dean to better reflect the plot. Significant changes made to the conversations with Blaise and Lady Malfoy to improve narrative flow. Minor changes made to the rest of the text.

Dean sighed, a little exasperated as he gave Scorpius a pacifier.

“I think we’ve hit the phase where Scorp has realized how his hands work. Now he just wants to put everything in his mouth.”

Several minutes later, Romilda Vane threw open the front door and stepped into the entryway, announcing herself with a loud,

“Hermione Granger!”

She held five pale pink garment bags, presumably stuffed with the remainder of Hermione’s wardrobe. Blaise took a few of them off her hands and she wrapped him in a one-armed hug.

“Just wait until you see what’s in here. Hermione will look so good there will be a queue outside the Maeve Ward! Oh, Hermione! How are you? You look dreadful, have you been sleeping? Blaise and I will just pop up to put these in the bedr—”

She stopped abruptly to stare at Hermione’s hand. She raised an eyebrow and cast a knowing look toward Blaise.

“I see you paid a visit to Lady Narcissa.”

“Um, I actually want to talk to you about that,” Hermione said. “All three of you.”

**.oOo.**

On the face of it, “dinner” is a nice thing; it’s a family meal. Except Scorpius Malfoy’s family looked less like a tree and more like a patchwork quilt. Hermione rarely made use of her dining area, but she’d need every inch for her Sunday dinner party.

Blaise arrived first, at ten in the morning.

“I can cook!” Hermione had insisted.

“Yes, by a very liberal definition of the word. I will cook the meal to prevent you from poisoning your guests.”

“It’s just following a recipe in a cookbook. How hard can it be?”

Blaise had glared at her so disdainfully Hermione was surprised she didn’t burst into flame.

Dean showed up at five o’clock to help set up the rest of the house. He gave Blaise a quick kiss on the cheek before tasting some of the soup simmering on the stove. Dean put the place settings on the table as Hermione dressed Scorpius in his favourite sweater, praying he would be on his best behaviour.

Hermione’s stomach knotted up once guests arrived. Harry and Ginny stepped out of the Floo at exactly seven. Hermione’s parents pulled into the driveway at 7:01. Romilda showed up at 7:03. By the time Lady Narcissa stood on Hermione’s doorstep at 7:15, the house was practically under siege.

Narcissa Malfoy looked like it pained her to be in a Muggle neighborhood. She made no attempt to blend in, wearing a pink rayon dress with printed silver cherry blossoms spiraling up from the hem, around the back and up across her chest, then to her shoulder where the sleeve tapered off. It looked like something straight out of 1930s Paris, which would have been fine had she not been standing in London in 2006.

“Welcome, Lady Malfoy. This is, um, this is my home,” Hermione said, gesturing around her entryway.

“I see. It is very … quaint.”

And that was as close as she would get to a compliment. Hermione nervously cleared her throat and started introducing Lady Narcissa to everyone milling about her living area.

“You know Blaise and Romilda already,” Hermione nodded to them huddled in conversation by her fireplace. She approached the least-threatening person in the room first.

“This is Dean Thomas, my friend from school and Blaise’s boyfriend,” Hermione said. Dean gently took her proffered hand and said,

“It is nice to finally meet you, Lady Malfoy,” he said, all smiles. “If you don’t mind me saying so, Blaise considers you to be a maternal figure and I am a little nervous about trying to make a nice impression.”

Narcissa’s expression softened.

“How long have you been seeing each other?”

“About six months, now,” Dean replied.

“That is about seven months longer than most of the company Blaise keeps,” she winked. Narcissa Malfoy winked and Hermione wouldn’t believe it if she hadn’t seen it. “He is happier than I can ever remember him.”

Hermione guided Lady Malfoy over to Harry and Ginny as she left Dean to melt into a contented puddle. The greetings were a little awkward as Ginny and Narcissa seemed to be in competition as to who could look at the other with the most contempt. Harry, however, was blessedly neutral.

“Lady Malfoy, it is a pleasure to see you.”

“You as well, Mr. Potter. I trust my son is keeping you aware of his progress?”

All the colour drained from Harry’s face. He sputtered out a series of words that really didn’t make any sense together, and Ginny couldn’t help but giggle.

“Mr. Potter, you will find that wherever my son is concerned you should presume me to be omniscient.”

Blaise came over then and ushered them into the dining room, leaving Hermione with her parents and Lady Narcissa. The Malfoy and the Muggles. Hermione could have done a comedy special about how ridiculous of a moment it was. She inhaled deeply, exhaled, and there was a brief moment where they all sized each other up before Hermione said,

“Lady Malfoy, this is my father, Doctor Jack Granger.” As they shook hands Hermione said, “He was instrumental in helping me choose Scorpius’s name.”

“Oh! How wonderful,” Narcissa said, pleased. “They teach the stars in Muggle schooling?”

“No, I stargaze as a hobby,” Mr. Granger replied. “My wife and I are dentists.”

“They’re a sort of Healers who specialize in teeth,” Hermione explained.

“Is that a lucrative profession?”

“Fairly,” Mr. Granger conceded. Lady Malfoy nodded, seemingly pleased. Hermione moved on.

“And this is my mother, Abigail Granger.”

Before they shook hands, Mrs. Granger asked,

“Elsa Schiaparelli?”

Narcissa glanced down at her dress and nodded.

“Yes. Yes, indeed it is. You know of Ms. Schiaparelli?”

“I adore her!” Mrs. Granger reached out like she wanted to touch it, but came back to herself at the last moment. “Is it an original?”

“Of course,” Narcissa said, offended someone could presume otherwise.

“You are wearing a museum piece.” Mrs. Granger muttered, her eyes not moving from the dress. “Je n’en crois pas mes yeux.”

“Parlez-vous Françias?”

“Oui,” Mrs. Granger muttered, scooting uncomfortably close to Lady Malfoy. Hermione was about to step in when Narcissa started rapidly conversing in French. They were discussing the dress, that much was clear as Mrs. Granger reverently touched the fabric, but Hermione had forgotten her mother even spoke French.

“Oi!” Blaise shouted from the dining room. “The food is getting cold in here!”

They moved into the dining room, where Lady Malfoy and Mrs. Granger sat next to each other without breaking the conversation. Harry and Mr. Granger spent some time discussing this new-fangled thing called a “DVD.” Ginny and Romilda spent some time catching up while Blaise and Dean kept lovingly gazing at each other over the appetizer.

Hermione was perfectly content watching it all happen, rocking Scorp back and forth in the high chair Dean had purchased. She allowed it to continue through the entrée, but made her announcement before dessert.

“I suppose you are all wondering why I requested your presence at dinner this evening,” she said. Harry nodded and Ginny whacked him upside the head.

“We don’t need an excuse to visit Hermione!” she mumbled. Hermione smiled.

“I appreciate all your help in taking care of Scorp, and taking care of me these past two months. I quite literally couldn’t have done it without you. That being said, I, um … In a couple months I want to go back to work.”

That raised more than a few eyebrows.

“I love healing people and I do really good work at St. Mungo’s. As much as I love Scorpius, once Draco gets back it would be best if I go back to doing my job so Draco will be able to spend the day with his son without me in the way.

“I’ve thought it through, and we can’t drive Scorp to and from the manor every day; I don’t want to pass Scorp around like a Quaffle. He is as much my child as he is Draco’s, and because Scorp is so young I believe he should have a stable home. One stable home. That being said, should Lady Malfoy agree, I think I should move into Malfoy Manor.”

Harry dropped his fork and everyone at the table started shouting their opinions.

“Absolutely not!”

“When Merpeople cross the desert!”

“Are you bloody joking?!”

“You want to live there?!”

Hermione held up her hands and shouted, “OI! EVERYONE SHUT UP!” Once they quieted, she said, “I can’t keep him from Draco, and Draco sure as hell isn’t moving in here. There is not enough space and we’d kill each other within a week.”

The table was silent. Hermione thought all hell would break loose again, but no one seemed to want to say anything. Finally, Mr. Granger spoke up.

“Honey, are you sure you’re ready to make that commitment?”

“I think Hermione wants to give Scorpius the closest thing to a family she and Draco can be,” Romilda piped in. “And I think it’s a wonderful idea.”

“As do I,” Narcissa agreed.

Hermione expected it to be more difficult than that, but if there is any truth to the wizarding world, it’s that Malfoys belong in Malfoy Manor.

**.oOo.**

Hermione immediately regretted introducing her mother to Narcissa Malfoy as they were inseparable. Mrs. Granger arrived every Sunday with colour swatches and magazines for the new wing. Lady Narcissa was equally persistent. She had Thursdays with Scorpius and always seemed to have questions about Hermione’s part of the manor, such as the sort of art she wanted on the walls or the desk she wanted for her study. This annoyed Mr. Granger more than anyone.

“She and your mother were out all day yesterday antiquing! If I see one more issue of that _Harpie’s Bazaar_ and _Fidelius Actuelle_ rubbish Narcissa brings over, I will move into Malfoy Manor myself to get away from it all!”

Scorpius learned to roll over, so Hermione was extra careful during reading time. He tried talk back enthusiastically, not that he understood what was said to him. Much to Hermione’s delight, Scorpius was very ticklish! She accidentally discovered as much while changing his nappy, which was a debacle, but Scorp would giggle and give her a heart-shaped smile when she tickled his stomach.

In early September, Dean showed up to take care of Scorpius alone. Hermione was running late so she didn’t press the issue before she left. Scorp was napping when she returned and Dean looked ready to bolt. Hermione stood between him and the door and asked,

“Is it bad?”

Dean ran a hand over his face and nodded, “Yeah. Yeah, it’s bad.” He bit his lip and turned back toward the living area. He collapsed on the couch and said,

“We had a bit of a row.”

“A bit?”

“I broke one of the drawers in the kitchen and one of his jinxes shattered a window, so more than a bit. We’ve never actually fought before. Little things, you know, but the next day we both knew everything would be fine.”

“I don’t understand,” Hermione said. “You two were so happy. What went wrong?”

“You’ve seen Blaise! People who are that gorgeous don’t fall in love with people who look like me. They sure as hell don’t marry people like me. I don’t come from money and all I wanted to do was make racing brooms and Quidditch supplies. I was doing just fine until Blaise upended my life. I had started spending most of my time at his flat. He came to my football matches. I thought …. I really thought we’d be married soon. I really did.”

“He loves you,” Hermione insisted. “I know he does. The way he talks about you when you leave the room … It’s like you single-handedly taught him the concept of love.”

“Why can’t he say those things when I am in the room?!” Dean shouted. He lowered his voice and said, “He can say nice things about Malfoy, but he can’t tell me why he loves me. So I said something bad, a lie, really.”

“Oh, Dean, what did you say?”

“In my defense, he said something terrible first and I just reacted.”

“Dean,” Hermione repeated, “what did you say?”

He crossed his arms and shifted awkwardly on the couch. Hermione leaned against the armchair and Dean sniffed, looking out the window to avoid her gaze.

“I told him the next time he shows up at my door on his knees, that I won’t let him in.”

**.oOo.**

Wednesdays were quieter after that. Blaise showed up on Thursday with Lady Narcissa. He was okay, or at least he would have appeared that way to anyone who didn’t know him. But Blaise Zabini stepped out of Hermione’s Floo and she immediately knew he wasn’t in a right state. He wore trainers, jeans, and a West Ham United t-shirt. It looked like his best attempt at keeping himself together.

“Wouldn’t miss a chance to see my godson,” he said. As he fed Scorp some pureed carrots he asked,

“Was Dean here?”

Hermione nodded.

“How is he?” Blaise asked, trying (and failing) not to seem desperate for an answer.

“Dean is … confused.” Hermione settled on that word because it felt accurate. Blaise opened his mouth to ask for something, but Hermione cut him off.

“I’m not an owl! I won’t deliver messages for either of you, but I like you, Blaise. Against my better judgement, I like you. Dean’s a good friend and if I had to take a guess as to why he’s upset, I’d say you never did a good enough job explaining why you love him.”

“I don’t know how to do that!” Blaise protested. “This has never happened to me. Draco is the only family I have. Neither of us had much emotional support growing up, obviously, so I never learned how to give it or how to, you know, know when Dean needs me. If I love Dean, why should it matter why?”

“Because it does. Now, perk up, Scorp can tell when you’re sad and it makes him anxious.”

**.oOo.**

Scorp got even quieter in late September. Not that he was ever rambunctious, but he asked for less and was more easily amused. He definitely recognized Hermione, Dean, Blaise, the Grangers, and Lady Narcissa. He also knew his own reflection and would blow little raspberries at it each time he saw himself in a mirror. (This never failed to send both him and Hermione into a fit of giggles.)

Ginny and some of their friends took Hermione out for her birthday. Lady Narcissa was happy to watch Scorpius while they partook in the oldest wizarding pastime: messing with Muggles. They changed the colour of someone’s hat and watched how long it took for them to notice. They saw a bloke pestering a girl and Angelina hexed his shoelaces together.

They ate at a posh restaurant Hermione couldn’t find again if she tried. She drank a bit during the conversation about their sex lives because with Ginny that was something she never preferred to discuss. _Some things about Harry need to stay in the dark._ But there was no talk of work, family, or Draco Malfoy.

When Hermione arrived home, there was a chocolate cake waiting on her dining room table. She picked up the card beside it.

“Hermione,

I am grateful for your help and for your friendship. I am even more thankful that Scorpius has you to care for him. Happy birthday! Don’t eat all the cake in one sitting.

-Blaise”

Somewhere between slices two and three Lady Narcissa said,

“He really is a sweetheart. I have yet to understand what had him so infatuated with my son. Lucius was always concerned about the other way around. I told him of course Draco liked the boy, he has eyes!”

Hermione chuckled and licked the frosting that had gotten stuck in the prongs of her fork. It was, by far, the most delicious cake she ever tasted.

“They were a thing?”

Lady Malfoy shrugged, noncommittal.

“My son was always coy about Blaise Zabini and they consider each other family. I consider him family. It is an interesting bond those two have. As for whether they were ever any more, you would have to ask Draco.”

“I’d really rather not,” Hermione mumbled. Narcissa ignored her.

“Blaise is useless right now. He spends most of his time at the manor, sulking in those awful Muggle shirts. Now, I like that Dean boy very much. He’s taller than Blaise and has nice eyes, but he never let Blaise push him around. That is important because he never allowed Blaise to dictate how quickly their relationship progressed, and I like that. Blaise just failed to understand why Dean would ever second-guess him. My sweet little idiot.”

“What about you, Lady Malfoy?” Hermione pivoted. “Draco’s father died four years ago. You’re a beautiful, powerful witch. I am sure any man would …”

Hermione trailed off as Narcissa smiled sadly down at her plate of cake.

“Once you are married to a Malfoy, you will find everyone else seems rather dull.”

“Boring?”

“No, other men still interest me, like your father.” Boy, did that make Hermione pay attention. “He tells me about the stars. Everything we know comes from Centaurian legends, yet Muggles have entirely different stories for their constellations. It is fascinating!

“Malfoy men have a unique way of approaching the world. There is no halfway with them, no midpoint or compromise for much of anything. They are fire, all-consuming. They feel things very deeply and will hollow you out until you can do the same, even with the pain. All of it, where every emotion feels like it may kill you because your blood boils or runs too cold. You fight, you love, you are intimate down to your very soul and no one else will ever replicate it for you. Lucius was my only love and anyone else is pittance in comparison.”

Hermione’s mouth had fallen open at some point so she snapped it shut. Her fingers went numb around her fork.

_The only person to ever make me feel something that deeply was Draco Malfoy. But it doesn’t count if the only emotion you’ve ever felt for them is hatred, right? Right?!_

**.oOo.**

Hermione and Scorpius moved into Malfoy Manor on October 28th. She didn’t quite have the urge to vomit, but she was apprehensive. The one thing keeping her sane was knowing her house would be there should she need it. Everything seemed to settle once they pulled up to the Malfoys’ front door.

_You don’t know strange until you’ve seen half a dozen house-elves unload a car._

Hermione followed her parents inside. There were Muggles inside Malfoy Manor and she half-expected the house to spit them back out onto the gardens. Mrs. Granger ushered them along, down a new hallway and up a flight of stairs where they were greeted by Lady Narcissa.

“Welcome to your new home, Miss Granger.” She nodded to Hermione’s parents. “Abigail, Jack, thank you for transporting Hermione and my grandson.”

With that, she led them all into a wide hallway with several doors on each side. Lady Malfoy pointed to the third door on the right and said,

‘This is your bedroom.”

It was beautiful. Coloured in cream and grey, it felt like a place Hermione could call home. She wondered what Narcissa thought she’d be doing that required a king size bed but didn’t dwell on it. There were floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the garden, complete with silver curtains.

“Your bathroom is here,” Narcissa pointed to a closed door on the far wall, “and Scorpius’s nursery is here.”

The nursery, connected to Hermione’s room, was set up exactly as it had been in her home. The walls were a pale green, Scorp’s favourite colour. They had a toy chest, changing table, everything he could possibly need. Hermione smiled and said,

“It’s perfect.”

Across from them was another door out of the nursery.

“Where does that lead?” Hermione asked.

“That is Draco’s bedroom,” Lady Malfoy replied.

“D-Draco’s bedroom?” Hermione stuttered. “Is right there?”

“Honey, I have been saying the same thing for two months now, but they don’t listen to me. These two,” he gestured to his wife and Narcissa, “are incorrigible.”

“Jack, Scorpius is Draco’s son as well,” Mrs. Granger insisted. “You cannot expect him to sleep further away from his child.”

“I am concerned about him sleeping too close to my child!” Mr. Granger retorted. Hermione got the sense this was at least the fifth time they’d had this argument.

“My son is a gentleman and Hermione has nothing to be concerned about,” Lady Malfoy insisted.

Hermione’s study was the most beautiful room she’d ever seen. Situated across the hall from her bedroom, one wall was entirely bookshelves, stacked with tomes Hermione presumed came from the Malfoy library interspersed amongst her own. The desk was old oak, polished and wide enough she could fit at least five open books on it at once. She had a sitting area with garnet-coloured armchairs and a glass tea table. Hermione wondered if she’d ever leave.

“Did we get it right?” Lady Malfoy asked. If Hermione didn’t know better, she’d say Narcissa Malfoy was nervous. Hermione could do little more than stand there with her mouth open. Scorpius started babbling in her ear and she did another full turn to take it all in.

“Oh, we got it right,” Mrs. Granger smiled.

“You know, it’s kind of mental,” Hermione admitted, “but I think this arrangement might work after all.”


	9. Welcome Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not the homecoming Draco expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 8/6/2018: Minor changes made to the chapter text.

Hermione wondered when her father started calling her “honey.” It was ages ago, before Australia, perhaps even before Hogwarts. She sensed her father knew “Hermione” would be a difficult name; difficult for others to pronounce and a difficult burden for her to carry. He was always much more intuitive and emotive than her mother. He just knew, so Hermione wasn’t surprised when he pulled her aside before dinner.

“Honey, I am so proud of all the sacrifices you are making for your son. The past five months haven’t been easy, and I wouldn’t have let you move in here unless it was best for Scorpius. But you never told us what happened to you. I want you to know that you can leave, if you want. No one will judge you or think less of you.”

Hermione sighed. She still had nightmares. Less frequently now that Scorp was around and she slept like the dead any time her head hit a pillow, but still. Hermione was worried and she was afraid, but not about the house.

_It’s just a house. Yes, the site of the worst moment of my life, but it was war. This house should be the opposite for Scorpius; it should be his home. It should be where he has the best moments of his life, a place where he feels safe. I want to be here for every birthday, every Christmas, all of that. Being frightened of my past is no excuse to miss out on my son’s future._

“Thanks, Dad.” Hermione looked over at her mother and Narcissa Malfoy huddled in conversation. “You don’t need to know what happened here. It was bad and Lady Malfoy allowed it to happen; I haven’t forgiven her and probably never will. But I don’t want it to change how you and Mum see her. We don’t need to ruin Scorpius’s family over something that happened a decade ago.”

“If that’s what you want, honey, I’m fine with it,” Mr. Granger said.

“Well, I am not afraid of the house. I am afraid Draco will want to raise Scorpius alone, and I chose to move here so he couldn’t do that.”

Her father smiled.

“I knew you had another reason. You are too smart for the rest of the world, Hermione Jean.”

**.oOo.**

Hermione worked eight hours on November 1st. After her first full Wednesday at St. Mungo’s in nearly five months, she wanted two things: Scorpius and sleep, in that order. Hermione tossed her Healer robes onto her bed and picked Scorpius up for reading time. He was unusually babbly so it took a full hour to get through that week’s issue of _Loony Nonby_. She could hardly turn the page without yawning.

Hermione was changing Scorp’s nappy when voices began to filter in from the hall.

_“Blaise, I just spent nine hours on an airplane. If Potter ever sticks me on one of those flying contraptions again, I will hex him into nonbeing. I want to bathe and then sleep in my own bed.”_

_“Do not make it sound like you were slumming in New York.”_

_“Of course not. New York was amazing, and the wizards blend into the Muggle population! The food, Blaise, we must go for the food. You will not believe this … The Muggles have a game with only one ball and only one bat. Sounds like total rubbish but I loved it. Hold on, why are you in a t-shirt?”_

Scorpius started babbling and Hermione shushed him. Her hands shook a she fastened his diaper. There was no shame in hiding in her room until morning, right? Draco was weeks early!

_“I missed you, too. Stop, your affection is smothering me.”_

_“Yeah, I missed you, don’t get cute. That shirt is too big for you.”_

_“It was my boyfriend’s.”_

_“You have a boyfriend?! Long-term one? For real this time?”_

_“Yes, but—“_

_“Fantastic!”_

_“We broke up.”_

_“Oh … “_

Hermione’s eyes opened at the sound of Draco’s door hitting the wall.

“Draco, you really must speak with Potter.”

“I dropped the blasted Time-Turner at the Department of Mysteries and anything else Potter has to say can wait until tomorrow.”

“No, Draco, it really can’t,” Blaise insisted. Draco turned to him and asked,

“Blaise, what are you hid—“

Hermione lifted Scorp off the changing table and turned toward her room just as the door behind her flew open. She grit her teeth and sighed with her eyes closed. She felt Draco’s gaze, cold and scrutinizing.

Hermione slowly turned around to face Draco Malfoy for the first time in four years. She heard her blood rush through her veins. Her heart beat so frantically it threatened to burst through her ribcage. She finally looked into those silver-grey eyes she’d grown accustomed to, and it took all of three seconds for Draco’s face to go from confused to downright terrified.

_Nice to see we are on the same page._

Silence crept over the room, leaving Hermione no hope of a quick getaway. She had no words and Draco’s jaw twitched with all the questions he was afraid to ask. Wisps of hair fell from his messy bun and the circles beneath his eyes were so deep Hermione could swim in them, but those were the only indications he had just spent nearly half a day in a flying metal tube.

Draco looked like he might have raided Blaise’s closet. He wore grey trousers and a grey vest with a dark blue blazer thrown over top. Hermione was ogling him, she knew, but she had only seen him twice in eight years: once when he was a prisoner and once seven weeks removed from his father’s funeral. This Draco Malfoy was different, more confident and imposing. Hermione had no idea what to do or what to say as his eyes flitted about the room, putting all the missing pieces of his life together. Thankfully Blaise grabbed Scorpius because Hermione suddenly did not know what to do with her hands. She couldn’t feel them because every part of her body seemed to go numb as Draco just … Just kept looking.

_Breathe._

Scorpius saw his father for the first time and gave Draco a heart-shaped smile. Draco looked like he’d been Stunned. Scorp clapped and blew him an excited little raspberry. He grit his teeth, balled his hands into fists, and his whole body shook with barely-perceptible tremors.

“Why the hell does Granger have a baby that looks like me?”

“I told you to speak to Potter,” Blaise sighed. “He would have done this much better than I can. Lots of things happened while you were away—“

“If you could skip to the part where Hermione Granger is in my house holding a baby that looks like me, I would be much obliged!” Draco shouted back.

_Is he still so disgusted by me? Does he hate me so much he would speak about me like I am not standing right here?_

“You slept with Astoria,” Blaise said, very slowly.

“Once!” Draco protested. “Right before I left. I thought I’d die over in America, got really drunk, and … and …” he trailed off, seeming to realize he and Astoria had forgotten something. “Shit!”

“And Astoria had a rare illness which caused her to die shortly after giving birth,” Blaise said, very quietly as though Draco might not react—

“Astoria is dead?!” Draco shouted. Scorp went very quiet and Draco continued to ignore him. “She … She died because we … we … What?” he asked, confused and on the verge of angry tears.

“No! Draco, Astoria made a choice. You cannot think of it like—“

“Then tell me how to think of it!” Draco demanded.

Scorpius buried his head in Blaise’s shoulder. Blaise shushed him and gave him a quick kiss on the head.

“She gave you a family; she chose to do this for you.”

“How could she have been so goddamn stupid?!” Draco shouted.

“Shut up, Draco! Shut up!” Blaise insisted as Scorpius started to cry. Hermione wanted to go to him, but Draco was clinging to restraint with his fingernails and she didn’t want to push him over the edge.

“What would you have come back home to?” Blaise asked. “Me and a nearly-empty manor? We learned a long time ago that I am not enough for you.”

Draco huffed angrily and crossed his arms.

“How does Granger fit into this?”

“After Astoria died, the baby was left on Hermione’s doorstep.”

“Oh, so she is ‘Hermione’ now?!”

_I am right here!_

“And what do you mean left on her doorstep? Who the hell put my child on a stoop and how much of the Cruciatus Curse can they withstand before I kill them?”

Blaise swallowed hard and looked down at his shoes. He said,

“Hermione has been caring for Scorpius ever since and has been doing a marvelous job.”

“Oh, has she?” Draco snapped.

“Will you two stop talking about me like I am not standing right here?!” Hermione shouted.

Scorpius was in a full-blown fit at that point. Blaise bounced Scorp up and down in his arms for a few moments and glared at Draco all the while. Scorp quieted after a minute and Draco asked,

“How did you do that?”

“He knows me,” Blaise said. “You’ll find your son is quite perceptive.”

“My son? Could—could you not say that? Blaise, I do not understand what is happening. Why is Granger here?”

It was like the walls themselves were creeping inward, because suddenly the space between Hermione and Draco felt a lot smaller. She said,

“I am here because he is my child now, too.”

“You believe that caring for him for,” he narrowed his eyes and did a quick calculation, “less than six months gives you parental rights?”

“Five months is his whole life, you arrogant prick! And who are you to lecture me on being a parent? You’ve been here five whole minutes and still haven’t asked for his name!”

Malfoy opened his mouth but no words came out.

“Scorpius,” Hermione said. Scorp’s head popped up and she said, “Your son is Scorpius Draco Malfoy. He is my son because unlike you, someone doesn’t need to share my blood for me to love them!”

Draco grit his teeth together. Blaise held Scorpius a little tighter and retreated toward the hallway door.

“No one would want your filthy blood, Granger! And he is not your son, we’ve never even had sex!”

“Is that it, Malfoy? Would shagging me solve whatever issue you have sharing a child with me? Fine, right now, my bed or yours?!”

Blaise’s mouth fell open and Draco was rendered speechless. Hermione sneered at him in a decent impersonation of how Draco looked at her his whole life.

“You may think I am dirt, but you’d lie in it anyway.”

“I would never!” Draco countered.

“Liar.”

And that was when Blaise wisely decided to take Scorpius to the other side of the manor.

“Why did you bring him here?” Draco pivoted. “You could have spun it a dozen ways to make my life miserable, to finally kill my reputation. Yet not a single story in the papers about the Mudblood Malfoy mistress—“

Hermione saw red and her palm was on Malfoy’s cheek before she realized what was happening. His post-travel stubble was rough against her palm. The sound of the slap was so loud against the renewed silence that Hermione was surprised it didn’t break a window.

“I won’t let you call me that anymore!”

She tried to push him away, but Draco grabbed her hand and held it for the shortest moment against his chest. If they could bottle the jolt of satisfaction it sent through Hermione, it would be labeled Felix Felicis. She felt Draco’s heartbeat almost as frenetic as her own. His pulse thrummed through his fingertips on the back of her hand. Draco held her hand in his own and looked down at the ring on Hermione’s finger.

“Was my mother planning on proposing to you for me, too?” he asked.

Hermione jerked her hand away but didn’t step back.

“I get the feeling there is more to her peace offering than I was told.”

“Nothing a Muggle-born would have any reason to know,” Draco said, suddenly bored. “Pureblood families are proud, not stupid. We know what happens when the lines intermarry too often and both sides of my family are not opposed to marrying half-bloods. Traditionally, when a half-blood witch marries into a pureblood family she gets two rings, in this case one from the Black family … And one from the Malfoys. Congratulations, Granger, we are halfway to eternal misery.”

“Well …” Hermione didn’t know what to say. “That is not why I’m here, so why should it matter?”

“Because it is tradition and purebloods do not fuck around when it comes to tradition, Granger. Merlin, have you any observational skills?”

“It was a gift from my son’s grandmother,” she insisted. “Leave it at that.”

“No one will leave it at that, and if you think otherwise you have greatly misjudged the world you stepped into.”

“And you have been a fantastic welcoming committee, Draco Malfoy, how ever am I to thank you?” Hermione sassed back.

“Answer my question,” Draco replied. “Why did you move in here with my … with …” He trailed off, and Hermione noticed his cheek was still pink where she’d slapped it. She softened her tone before she answered.

“This is a bit of a shock, so I understand why you think you are angry at me. Blaise can answer your questions and I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to be near you right now. I’m too … Too …” She paused. _Keyed up. A little turned on, but mostly angry._ “Scorp and I will be here once the both of us have calmed down, and I know this is hard to process …”

“Don’t most people get nine months to prepare for this?” Draco snapped.

Hermione simply replied, “You got as much time as I did.”

**.oOo.**

Scorpius Malfoy had grown into an early riser. Over the past couple weeks he was ready for the day by six in the morning. Blaise had taken care of him the previous night since Hermione did not want to see anyone for awhile. She wanted to go to sleep and wake up the previous day to realize it was all a nightmare. She received a reality check when she went to check on Scorp in the morning.

“Shit!” Hermione yelped, glaring at the pitiful mess slumped against Scorpius’s bedroom wall. Draco was on the floor staring at the crib. His suit jacket was crumpled up on the floor at his side like he might’ve been using it as a pillow. “You gave me a fright!”

“Yeah, well,” he nodded toward the crib, “so did you.”

Draco stood up, a little unsteady, and took a few steps toward where Scorpius was blinking rapidly up at his rotating mobile. His hair had fallen almost entirely out of its bun, much of it splaying out haphazardly across his shoulders. He was next to Hermione, close enough for her to smell Firewhiskey on his breath. She was suddenly very conscious of her bedhead and morning breath. She quietly said,

“Let me take one thing clear: Scorpius being in your life is not my fault. Scorpius is not anyone’s fault! Our son—“

“Our son?” Draco said, distastefully.

“Well, yes. He is my son and he is your son, which makes him our son. That is how English works.”

“No need to lecture me on pronouns, Granger. I’m drunk, not a Troll.”

“Says you.”

“For once, you are not my problem. I am just having the slightest bit of trouble accepting the fact that I have a child,” Draco admitted. He looked down at Scorpius rather hesitantly and Hermione giggled.

“I’d give my left arsecheek if there is another man in the whole of Britain who could pass as Scorp’s father.”

Draco leaned around Hermione and his gaze shot downward. He smiled leerily and asked,

“Would you now?”

Hermione pushed him away and he stumbled back into the wall.

“Oh my God, are you flirting with me?”

Draco coughed.

“’m really drunk.”

“So that’s your solution?” Hermione asked, disappointed. “Get sozzled each time you remember you have to share your son with me? I don’t know what I expected, but I didn’t think you would be that disgusted by me.”

Draco burst into laughter.

“You think I’m drunk because I can’t stand you? Merlin’s arse, honestly, the three of you, the ‘Golden Trio,’” he said with accompanying air quotes, “always believe something is about you. Me getting pissed has nothing to do with you, Granger! You raised my newborn son! If I died in New York he would still have a family because of you. I owed you my life and still …” He waved a hand toward Scorpius. “You did that.”

“If it’s not me, what is it?!” Hermione asked.

“I am drunk because I am terrified out of my fucking mind!”

“Oh.”

“Blaise thought I would try to leave; he got me drunk enough so I can’t Apparate,” Draco revealed. “The last argument I had with my father, I told him I didn’t want to carry on the Malfoy line because I don’t know how to be a father. I never had a good example to learn from.” His face darkened. “What if I end up just like him? What if I tell myself I’m doing what is best for my son but I’m wrong? I don’t want to be like that! I don’t know how to care for my son or how to love him or even if I want him!”

“Hey!” Hermione shouted. Scorpius scrunched up his face so she picked him up and rubbed his back in little circles. “If you want to talk that way, don’t do it around Scorp. I can’t have him believing you don’t love him before he can even talk.”

That seemed to sober Draco for a moment.

“He can’t understand you, but he knows the difference between good and bad attention. Pretty sure he can smell fear, too,” Hermione teased. When Draco only got more sullen, she rolled her eyes. “You are a depressing drunk, Draco Malfoy.”

“I thought I was going to die in America. I didn’t, and I came home expecting to the same family I had when I left. Instead, my friend is dead, I have a baby, and somehow you live in my house now. I guess I should be angry or confused or jealous that you have spent all this time with my son that I cannot get back. Sad that you were able to pull together some sort of a family when I’ve spent the last four years trying to figure out whether I even want one.”

“I’m about to be very honest with you,” Hermione said, “but know I am only telling you because I don’t think you will remember it when you wake up.”

“I’ll remember,” Draco insisted.

_No, he’s too knackered._

“I think you can do this. Not because you’re great at it because at first I think you’ll be really fucking terrible. I was. I was also hungover when I found him so you’re actually at par right now. But I think you want to do this. I think you want to be a good father to your son and that’s why I brought him here.

“I won’t let you fail. You wonder what will keep you from turning into your father? Me. I am not afraid of you. Scorpius is our son and I will not allow him to be treated the way your father treated you. I won’t take Scorpius away from you and you can’t take him away from me. We are in this together and I will not let you fail.”

Draco nodded.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Hermione repeated, shocked. “You trust me just like that?”

Draco sighed.

“First, I’m really drunk; I ran out of fingers and Blaise kept pouring. Second, I’m inclined to trust you because my options are limited. And I trust you because you trust me.”

Hermione looked at him skeptically.

“How could you possibly know if I trust you? I never said that.”

Draco shrugged and walked back into his bedroom. Before he closed the door he said,

“You’re still wearing the ring.”


	10. The Day After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Draco talk to each other and it doesn't go quite as badly this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super special shoutout to @Susiequ510 for beta-ing this chapter for me! It took approximately seventeen drafts but we finally got it. This whole chapter takes place on November 2nd, 2006; Scorp is just a wee bit over five months old.
> 
> 8/16/2018: The ending of this chapter was moved to the beginning of Chapter 11. Minor alterations made to the rest of the text.

“I apologize.”

Hermione never expected to hear those words from Draco Malfoy. She should write it down on the calendar, “The Day Malfoy Apologized.” They should make it a holiday. The sounds coming from Draco’s room earlier in the afternoon were not pleasant, with him retching into the toilet and loudly complaining of a headache. Blaise refused to give him a hangover antidote, something about, “Payback for being a twit.” Hermione found Dean’s wallet near Scorpius’s crib and placed it in her study.

_I’ll return it to him tomorrow._

Draco and Hermione met in Lady Malfoy’s study because it was the closest thing the two of them had to neutral ground. She was outnumbered by Malfoys, so Hermione was determined to at least present herself as prepared and confident though neither of those adjectives rang true. Narcissa sat at her desk, looking between Draco and Hermione with an exasperated expression.

“While I am happy to welcome you home, Draco, I was under the impression Blaise would explain things to you yesterday evening. Blaise believed Potter would have that honour, and it appears we all let you down. I am pleased to hear he has since stepped up to explain the past five months. Miss Granger, I apologize for the way my son bombarded you. Restraint has never been one of his virtues.”

Draco smiled wryly at that admission. His hair was damp from his shower and he smelled much better than he did that morning. He looked older up close, with thin lines bracketing his smile and fanning out from the corners of his eyes. He wore a grey sweater that perfectly fit his shoulders and dark jeans that most certainly did not have Hermione noticing how well they clung to his backside. Hermione’s mother was right to call him dashing, but his looks changed nothing. Draco still had the power to take her son away.

He turned to face Hermione and said, “I apologize for calling you that name. It was wrong and I do not use that word anymore. I only said it to hurt you so you would understand the pain I felt. That was wrong of me and I am sorry.”

“Thank you?” Hermione asked. It was a huge step for Draco to apologize about anything, let alone something he’d been doing since he was twelve.

“Very good then,” Lady Malfoy said, dismissing the moment. “We have some logistical issues in need of attention. One matter in particular is quite unorthodox.”

Draco chanced a glance at Hermione and she nervously cleared her throat.

“I want to go back to work,” she said. Draco turned to stare at her for a long while, confused. Hermione shrank beneath his gaze, picking at her fingernails. He finally said,

“Are you asking my permission?” He turned to face his mother. “Did you put her up to this?”

“I am not asking your permission!” Hermione insisted.

“She thinks that is exactly what you are doing,” Draco replied. “Mother, Hermione and I are not engaged or dating or anything of the sort. Hell, we are barely amicable! She hit me!”

“You deserved it,” Hermione insisted.

“I did,” Draco agreed. “And because she is not my girlfriend, fiancé, or wife, she does not need to ask my permission to work. You will find that even if Hermione was one of those things, she would not find my permission necessary.”

_Is Draco Malfoy standing up for my independence? Is Draco standing up to his mother … for me?_

Hermione leaned forward in her chair, confused, perplexed, bewildered. Lady Narcissa explained,

“That you want to continue to work while living in our house, Miss Granger—“

“My house,” Draco quipped.

“—is not traditional. Some may consider it offensive.”

“The same people that would consider my blood status offensive?” Hermione asked. “Then you’ll find I have little care for what they think.”

Draco was smiling and Lady Malfoy could hardly keep her own mouth from climbing upward.

“Where do you work, Granger?” Draco asked.

“I’m Healer-in-Charge of the Maeve Ward at St. Mungo’s.”

“Are you really?!” Draco asked, impressed. Hermione felt her cheeks flush. “Then again, with Potter and Weasley I suppose you always have been the patron saint of lost causes.”

“My patients are not as lost as everyone presumes them to be,” Hermione insisted, ignoring his jibe at Ron and Harry. “Just because we do not have the answers now doesn’t mean I can’t find them. With a little bit of research and controlled testing, we can help so many people! But I can’t help them if I am never at work. Now that you are here, I think it would be best for me to return full-time.”

Draco looked at Hermione like she just told him the world had run out of pomade. She insisted,

“You said you were jealous that I have five months with your son you cannot get back. Here is your opportunity to spend time with him!”

“May I have the week to decide?” Draco asked hesitantly.

“I am not asking your permission!”

“No, you are just asking me to take responsibility for a child who, as of yesterday, I didn’t know existed. Forgive me if I need some more time to process everything I’ve been told,” Draco spat back.

_There is the Draco I know._

“You have the week,” Hermione conceded.

“Excellent!” Lady Malfoy said. “I owled Hermione’s parents and we are to meet them for dinner on Sunday. Blaise has graciously offered to watch Scorpius while we are out.”

“You met Hermione’s parents?!” Draco asked, surprised and perplexed. “Her Muggle parents?!”

“Oh yes, Draco,” Lady Malfoy teased, “and her father is very keen to meet you.”

Hermione giggled.

_I’m sure he is._

“Finally, when shall we host the gala to celebrate Draco’s return? I think mid-December is best as the manor will already be decorated for Christmas. Any objections?”

Hermione asked, “Won’t your guests wonder why I am here?”

“And why she has a baby that looks like me?” Draco added. He seemed to be very fond of that refrain. Not “Scorpius,” not “my son,” but “a baby that looks like me.”

_It’s as though if he doesn’t say Scorp’s name out loud he thinks we may go away. Like we are a problem to be solved or a pile of rubbish to be thrown away._

“We will need to do a formal announcement regarding Miss Granger’s living arrangements and, of course, the birth of your son,” Lady Malfoy said, writing it down on a piece of parchment.

“And provide context so readers are aware those two things are not related,” Draco demanded.

His mother huffed as her quill snapped in half.

“I most certainly will not! I have nothing against you cavorting about outside of marriage, but you will not tarnish our name any further by making it appear to the world that Hermione Granger is your kept woman!”

“How my mother dares to lecture me on tarnishing the Malfoy name, I haven’t the faintest idea,” he snapped.

“That was out of line, Draco Lucius Malfoy! You may claim ownership of this manor but I am your mother and you will respect my opinion.”

“Yes, Mother,” Draco rolled his eyes, though Narcissa leveled him with a glare fit to kill.

“You two,” Lady Malfoy sighed, “are bound together whether you take enjoyment in it or not.” She turned to Hermione and continued. “Scorpius is your child and that frightens my son because he wants to prove to the world, but particularly to you that he is worthy of forgiveness.”

Draco did not refute that assertion. Hermione expected to be forced to argue her position, to insist going back to work and entrusting Scorpius to Draco was the right thing to do. She expected Draco to want her gone.

_When did the world start spinning in the opposite direction?_

There was a loud cracking noise as a house-elf appeared at Narcissa’s elbow.

“Lady Cissy has a visitor!”

Lady Malfoy excused herself, and Hermione took the opportunity to observe Draco as he tapped his fingers against the desk. He had shaved and Hermione absentmindedly ran the pads of her fingertips against her palm.

_Harry and Ginny were right, but I can’t get a read on him. I don’t know if he wants to take Scorp away from me or if he wants Scorp at all. Is he ashamed?_

“I remember what you said.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

“This morning, I remember what you said.” He finally turned toward her and Hermione saw fear in his eyes. He leaned forward so his elbows rested on his knees. He let his head hang, took a deep breath, and finally met her gaze.

“Do you truly believe there is a chance I could be good at this?” he asked.

“I—“

“Hermione, do you think there is any chance I can be a good father?”

It was the first honest question Draco Malfoy ever asked her. Hermione had a difficult time formulating an answer.

_How can I hate you when you look at me like this? I have never seen you so vulnerable. You aren’t the boy you were in school and I am not that girl anymore, either._

Hermione didn’t say any of that out loud. Instead she said,

“I think there is every chance you will be a great father to Scorpius. I wouldn’t be here if I thought otherwise.”

**.oOo.**

“Tell me about him,” Draco said.

He and Hermione leaned against the wall of one of the spare bedrooms. Blaise had taken on reading duty, so they whispered and watched Scorpius babble away as he flipped through one of his books.

“Hermione, why the hell would a cat wear a hat? Is it an Animagus?” Blaise shouted from the bed.

“Don’t overthink it!” she replied with a smile. Blaise returned to Dr. Seuss and Scorp was riveted. Hermione whispered to Draco, “What do you want to know?”

Draco shrugged.

“Anything. Everything. What does he like? Is he like me at all?”

Hermione laughed. How many times had she thought the same thing? Draco looked at her curiously, afraid he may have said something stupid.

“He is like you in some ways,” she acquiesced. “He is stubborn and craves attention.”

The way Draco’s teeth ground together, Hermione realized there was a difficult journey ahead before they could be good parents together.

“Alright, um, you have to remember I don’t really know you. When I think Draco Malfoy I see the ceiling of your drawing room …” Hermione trailed off and Draco hissed through his teeth.

“I know what I said to you in school and I can apologize for it. There is nothing I can do about watching you be tortured on my floor. I should have done something. Anything, I do not know what I would have done but I should have done something! Then you went and saved me from Azkaban—“

“Harry did that,” Hermione insisted.

“—and now you want to put it all aside and help me raise this child?” Draco asked, incredulous.

“Scorp is our child and you best get that through your shiny head, Draco Malfoy. He is mine and he is yours. I did not want you to go to prison and I had my reasons for that. You have been nothing but a total bastard the entire time I have known you. I also know you risked your life to keep all of us safe. You have changed and I see that now. Doesn’t mean I know you or that you know me.”

“Fine then,” Draco snipped, “what do you want to know?”

_Anything. Everything._

“Tell me about America,” Hermione said. It seemed to be the safest area of conversation, one not involving his parents or their past, but still Draco bristled. He absentmindedly tugged at the end of his sweater sleeve.

“I hated being in America,” he admitted. Hermione raised an eyebrow in surprise. “They learned nothing from what happened to us. Wizards there cannot even befriend Muggles, let alone shag them or marry one of them.”

“Is that true?!” Hermione gasped.

“Strange, right? They blend in seamlessly, but refuse to assimilate any other way. The people I was with were decent and that was the worst part of it all. They were like me, like my friends when we were younger. We all believed the Dark Lord was right and wizards should come out of the shadows to reign over Muggles and torture Muggle-borns for being abominations against our kind. But they were good people to me, to everyone they thought was worth being decent to.”

_Oh._

“I hated them, except Queenie. She was there out of love, had it bad for their leader.”

“I thought you were their leader,” Hermione asked.

“I was a counsellor of sorts,” Draco sighed. “I couldn’t lead them, you know as well as anyone I am a rubbish actor. They would have seen right through me. Nearly did several times but I just flashed the Dark Mark and reminded them not to test me.”

He gripped his left forearm and grit his teeth. Hermione wondered what it looked like now. Was it as black as it had been, or had it faded to near-nothingness?

”Queenie introduced me to their game called baseball,” Draco said.

“That’s an American sport,” Hermione observed.

“Well yes, Granger, I was in America with Americans and they play American sports.”

Hermione rolled her eyes.

_I did not miss your sass, Draco Malfoy._

“If there is one thing I got over there, it was hope,” he continued. “I learned to trust that not everything will let me down.” He chanced a glance at Hermione and amended, “Not everyone.”

_Oh, you right bastard. Flattery will get you … Everywhere. Flattery will get you everywhere, dammit._

Hermione felt herself blush again and she hated it. Draco noticed and one corner of his mouth twitched upward in an almost-smile. Hermione thought back to what Harry had said, that Draco was still an arrogant prick but he was different. She thought maybe Draco had learned to listen to and believe in other people.

“Their little club, called themselves ‘Revivalists,’ enjoyed Muggle sports. Something about Muggles working for their entertainment, the sick bastards. We went to so many games I lost count. D’you know all their sports have only one ball?”

“Shocking,” Hermione deadpanned.

“I know!” Draco agreed, missing her sarcasm. “But here is the thing: all their sports have a clock, except baseball, which is agonizingly slow at times. I cannot explain the game to you; it took me ages to figure it out. Queenie would do a much better job. She was rather enchanting when she spoke about it.”

Hermione asked about this Queenie person. Draco didn’t appear fond of any of these people, but there was no disdain in his voice when he spoke of her. He was only just on the negative side of ambivalent.

“Queenie is a good person. She is helping a terrible cause, but if you could take that away I believe she would be a good person. She is funny and passionate when she speaks, and she talks a lot. The air around her feels lighter or something. I seem to have the opposite effect on people so being around her was … I dunno, Granger, it was intoxicating.”

“She sounds lovely,” Hermione said facetiously. She didn’t know where the sudden bite came from, but Draco only smiled in response.

“Jealous, are you?”

“No!” Hermione replied too quickly. She was loud enough that Blaise glanced up from Dr. Seuss. Hermione motioned for him to pay attention to Scorpius and whispered to Draco, “I just think you fancy her, is all.”

“Granger,” Draco sighed. “More than anyone, I know that once you immerse yourself in darkness you can never separate yourself from it again. I would never fancy someone who made the same mistake I did.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes and guessed, “You two had sex, though.”

Draco chuckled.

“A couple times.” He caught sight of her panicked expression and said, “Worry not, Hermione, no more little ones to end up at your door.”

“So this is what you do?” Hermione asked. “Run your estate and fuck beautiful women?”

“’Tis a rough life I lead,” he joked. “You will not have to worry, my focus is here now.” Draco nodded toward Scorpius and said, “It’s on him.”

Hermione felt shamefully relieved at Draco’s admission he wouldn’t be running a harem through the manor. She was also happy to hear Draco say he was committed to Scorpius.

“What sort of name is Queenie, anyway?” she asked.

“She is named for her great-grandmother,” Draco revealed. “Who are you to talk about names, Granger? What the hell sort of name is Hermione?”

“Shut up,” Hermione said before demanding, “Tell me more about baseball.”

“It’s fucking brilliant!” Draco exclaimed. He nervously glanced toward Scorpius, still in Blaise’s arms and attempting to use his tiny fingers to flip between pages. “Should we refrain from cursing around the—our—child?” he asked nervously.

 “I never gave it much thought,” Hermione conceded. “Initially I just wanted to keep him safe and fed. There were a great many expletives during the first couple weeks.”

“I will work on it,” Draco resolved. “To your question, nothing else in the whole of New York City felt as satisfying as watching baseball.

“I fell in love with it because there is always hope. As long as the hitter trusts himself, anything is possible. I saw it time and time again: the comeback, the wins, the losses. I felt it all like the game was in my blood. It felt like catching the Snitch, or losing it, but imagine that every day. The thrill of it was addicting. It was an escape from every other shitty thing the Revivalists expected of me.

“In that game I learned that hope can crush me, but it is a necessary evil. If you walk onto the field believing you are going to fail, you will lose every time. Granger, because you told me there is a chance I can be a good father to my son—our son, I believe in myself. I trust you, and I hope to eventually prove myself worthy of your trust. We are a team now, and your faith gives me hope.”

Hermione saw Draco, really saw him for the first time. He looked at Scorpius with a bit more confidence than he had before. Less pique, too. For what felt like the tenth time in the past hour, Hermione felt her face go hot at his words, at his confidence in her assessment of him. The Muggle world had changed Draco Malfoy for the better.

“Every day I woke up wondering whether that was the day someone would figure me out. Whether someone would see I hated reverting back to that version of myself. That cowardly, shameful person I used to be. But there was something nice about being there, sort of like baseball. Everyone has a place to be; everyone has a purpose. It is so satisfying, it is so …”

“Romantic?” Hermione offered.

“Yeah,” he replied curiously. “Yeah, I suppose it is.”

There was an awkward moment of silence where they just stared at each other. Hermione’s heartbeat quickened and she was suddenly very aware of the pewter-coloured flecks in Draco’s eyes.

“Honestly, where is Babbity Rabbity?” Blaise said, pushing himself off the bed and breaking up the moment. Hermione and Draco abruptly looked away from each other. Draco ran a hand through his hair and Hermione awkwardly smoothed down her skirt as Blaise approached them.

“ _The Fountain of Fair Fortune_  was my favourite. What child reads nonsense about cats in hats?!”


	11. We Can Do This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is a mess and no one knows what they're doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JusticeForYadi, who requested this fic, was trying to give me some motivation for this chapter. She said, "Your characters are great. Scorpius is like five months old and even he's killin' the game." Thanks, bro.
> 
> 8/17/2018: The beginning of this chapter was altered to fit the entirety of the Blaise/Dean confrontation. Significant changes made to that conversation to better reflect the plot. The rating of this fic was upgraded from "mature" to "explicit," and four chapters were added to the total. Minor alterations were made to the chapter text to improve narrative flow, grammar, and cut back on dialogue.

Blaise went to put Scorpius down for a nap, insisting they were both exhausted from “immersing ourselves in such fantastic Muggle literature.” Hermione followed him out the door, not wanting to stand next to Draco any longer. Being around him was much different from what she expected. It had only been about a day, but it had taken all of ten minutes for Scorpius to completely upend her life. How did she expect his father not to do the same? She was not comfortable with how she reacted around Draco, physically or emotionally.

Hermione needed distance but, ever the annoying prat, Draco followed her all the way to the parlor. Well, he followed her until she got lost and she ended up following him.

_I haven’t even been here a week, and all these staircases look exactly the same!_

Hermione was not surprised to see Dean Thomas there, head bent low to get closer to Lady Narcissa. They chatted away like old friends, and Draco was more than a bit confused. His eyebrows sort of scrunched together and made a little eleven between them.

“Dean Thomas?” he asked. “What the hell are you doing here? How do you know my mother? The manor is being overrun by Gryffindors!”

 _Draco Malfoy has a lot to learn about his new family_ , Hermione mused. Dean smiled and said,

“I watch Scorpius on Wednesdays while Hermione is at work and, um, I think I left my wallet here? Not much use in the wizarding world but it has all my Muggle money and you can’t buy proper trainers with Galleons. At any rate, welcome back!” Dean sounded a little off. “Scorp really is a great kid. Though, I feel weird talking to you about your son like I know him better than you do.”

“You do,” Draco said. He hid most of his bitterness well, but Hermione still sensed there was some salt in his tone.

“For now!” Dean insisted. “But you will learn. Hermione needed help, too, it’s perfectly normal. No one gets it all right. And if you ever need—“

He stopped mid-sentence to stare at something (someone) over Draco’s shoulder. Both Hermione and Draco turned to look at him, and when Hermione looked back it was like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. She was hardly able to breathe until Dean asked,

“Blaise?” His voice cracked and he nervously cleared his throat. “Are you … Are you wearing my shirt?”

“No,” Blaise lied.

“I can see you standing in front of me in my shirt,” Dean said, incredulous.

“Oh,” Blaise sighed, glancing down at the navy t-shirt.

Draco looked back-and-forth between the two of them before echoing Blaise’s sentiment, “Oh.”

Blaise clearly wished he was anywhere else, so Hermione sent him to fetch Dean’s wallet from her study to give them all some reprieve. Blaise was out the door a half-second after the words left her mouth. Draco tilted his head to one side and raised an eyebrow, contemplating this new information. Dean was still staring at the doorway when Draco mentioned,

“I have never seen him so in love before.”

Dean shook his head to clear his thoughts and said, “What?”

“Marry him,” Draco said. “Whatever came between the two of you, you look miserable without each other and you should marry him.”

Dean glared at Draco.

“Malfoy, you have been back all of one day, and I think it would be best for you to keep your exceptionally pointy nose out of my love life. Especially considering you are the reason we broke up at all, it is rather ironic, you giving me love advice. Go fuck yourself.”

Draco took a stunned step backward.

“He told you?”

“Yeah, he did. And Blaise can’t even tell me why he loves me, so forgive me if I’m not planning to drop down on one knee any time soon.”

“I have found many ways to ruin Blaise’s life,” Draco admitted, “but this should not be one of them. He is my best friend, and you should marry him.”

They stood in awkward silence after that, with Lady Malfoy greying by the minute. Blaise finally reappeared in the doorway and stared at the floor as he handed the wallet to Dean. The parlor felt very small as Dean ran his thumb across the back of Blaise’s hand, and Blaise withdrew his fingers like they burned. Hermione felt like she was intruding on an intimate moment but found herself unable to look away. Dean, despondent, stuffed the wallet in his pocket and asked,

“You aren’t even going to look at me?”

“Was not planning on it, no,” Blaise mumbled. He stood with his arms crossed against his chest, and Dean went from crestfallen to furious. He shouted,

“Do you have any idea how miserable it is being in love with you?!” Blaise flinched as though Dean had slapped him. “I miss you every day. Hell, even my friends miss you!”

“Send them my love,” Blaise replied facetiously.

“But I just... I miss you,” Dean shrugged, imploring Blaise to just fucking look at him. “I miss you and your sterile, unpersonalized apartment and your food and I miss being able to make you laugh.”

“I miss laughing,” Blaise admitted.

_Oh, for fuck’s sake, kiss already!_

“Why the hell are you moping around Malfoy’s house in my shirt instead of talking to me?!”

“You told me you didn’t want me around!” Blaise whined, finally meeting Dean’s gaze. “I thought you needed time.”

“You read that so wrong,” Dean replied. “But I am taking care of Scorpius on Wednesdays and now that you mention it, it would probably be best if you are not around.”

Dean turned on his heel and Flooed away. Hermione felt his absence in the air, like the longer Blaise refused to talk about it the more suffocating it would become. Blaise Disapparated with a loud “crack!” and Draco sighed.

“A lot happened while I was away.”

“I have aged ten years with those idiots,” Lady Malfoy agreed.

**.oOo.**

Draco and Hermione met outside the nursery at six o’clock on Friday morning. They had a game plan because Hermione refused to allow Draco to avoid his son any longer. He’d left his hair down and she hated it. When it was long, he looked too much like his father and not enough like the Draco she guessed was hiding beneath all that pretense. His pajamas were dark grey lounge pants and a Slytherin Quidditch t-shirt.

_He puts so much effort into his appearance but sleeps just like the rest of us._

“You can do this,” Hermione said. Draco nodded and Hermione said it again, but put her hands on his shoulders this time. “You can do this. Have you held a baby before?”

Draco nodded.

“Theo has twins.”

“Theo Nott has twins?!” Hermione exclaimed. “Merlin help us all.”

She opened the door and told Draco, “Scorp wakes up around six every day. He’ll wake up overnight occasionally if he needs a nappy change or if he’s hungry, but it’s mostly the nappies.”

Scorpius was blinking himself awake when Hermione and Draco peered into his crib. Scorp yawned and Draco smiled. Hermione felt her heart flutter and she rolled her eyes.

_My emotions are out of control! There is nothing between me and Malfoy … Except a baby, a ring, and a house._

“Don’t pick him up until he’s fully awake,” she cautioned. “He gets a bit disoriented if he isn’t awake and you start to move him.” Scorp yawned again, wider this time, and opened his eyes. He babbled a bit and wiggled his feet. Draco rested his elbows on the edge of the crib as Scorpius made some more noises.

“You can pick him up, now,” Hermione said, but Draco didn’t move, “Or not. Just whenever you’re comfortable.”

Draco scooped Scorpius up and placed Scorp against his shoulder. Draco seemed to be fairly well-practiced, but Hermione was not prepared for the sight of Draco Malfoy holding his son.

_Holding our son._

Looking at the pair of them, Hermione wondered once again how she remained ignorant for so long. Scorpius had Draco’s eyes, his hair colour, and even that funny head tilt Draco did when he was confused.

“For being so nervous, you are doing well,” Hermione observed.

“I was not nervous about taking care of him,” Draco said. He bounced Scorp up and down a bit and beamed down at his son. “I spent enough time with Theo’s kids to know I can do the physical part of parenting. I have my doubts with the rest of it. I thought if I kept him at a distance, maybe … I dunno. I dunno what I thought. Now that I am holding him, though, I am pretty sure I would break into the Ministry of Magic if that is what it took to keep him safe.”

“As one of the leading authorities on breaking into the Ministry, I’d be right there with you.” Hermione laughed and Draco smiled. She felt her face go red again and busied herself prepping the changing table.

_Oh, God, no. Don’t smile. Don’t look like that while you’re holding my son! It makes me nervous, and not in the oh-no-is-he-going-to-accidentally-drop-Scorpius kind of way. More of the holy-hell-how-are-you-so-attractive kind of way._

“Are you adjusting well?” Draco asked, pulling Hermione out of her quarter-life crisis. She nervously used her foot to scoot her “prep bag” to the side of the table. Draco sounded a little nervous himself. “To the manor, I mean. Obviously this was not your ideal living situation. Though I redid that entire wing of the hou—OW!”

Draco yelped and Hermione turned around to see Draco wincing as Scorpius twined his fingers through his father’s hair.

“Oh, I am so sorry!” Hermione disentangled Scorpius from Draco’s shiny blond locks and apologized again. “I forgot to tell you the bun rule. Your mother and Blaise wear their hair up all the time, so I just … I forgot.”

Draco shrugged and pulled a hair tie from his pocket. He pulled his hair into a bun, wrapped the hair tie around it once, then held his arms out so Hermione could return Scorpius to him. She stood still for a moment, jealous he could just pull his hair back haphazardly like that and still look good.

Overall, the day went well. Draco was well-versed in childcare courtesy of Theo’s twins, leaving Hermione to wonder if she was the only person on the planet who made it to age twenty-six without learning the basics. Draco laughed when Scorpius drooled all over his shoulder. Hermione showed him each of Scorp’s favourite books and even bath time (for Scorpius) wasn’t too bad.

By the time they laid Scorp in his crib for the night, Hermione understood what Ginny had tried to tell her. Draco Malfoy was arrogant, proud, and much too good-looking, but he had changed for the better. If she had to guess, the thing that defined him instead was regret. There was sadness in his eyes, his frown lines, and he held onto Scorpius like his son was the one good thing he’d ever done.

As they went toward their bedrooms, Draco turned around and said,

“Granger!”

Hermione glanced back at him over her shoulder.

“Thank you,” he said. “I think you may be right, and I can be a good father to him.”

“I know you will be,” she replied. Draco swallowed thickly and said,

“I will watch Scorpius while you work, but I want you to know I never would have stopped you anyway. You help people wherever you are, and I will never stop you from doing that. I promise.”

Hermione smiled at him.

“You aren’t all bad yourself, Draco Malfoy.”

**.oOo.**

Hermione should not have been nervous about dinner with her parents. To be fair, her parents were not the ones making her nervous. Draco had only been back four days but it was long enough for Hermione to recognize the way she reacted to him was not normal. She should not be sneaking glances of his backside or feel any sort of envy over that Queenie person. Hermione shouldn’t think about how nice his face was now that he wasn’t sneering at her with disapprobation.

She was nervous about what her parents would see when they met outside the restaurant. Would they see that Draco looked at her without the veil of prejudice, or would they be more focused on how she couldn’t control just how good his compliments made her feel?

Romilda had convinced Hermione to purchase a few fancier dresses and Hermione knew just the one for dinner. It was lavender chiffon that fell to her knees, with silver sequin embellishments along the side seams. Cape sleeves fell to her elbows, with smaller silver sequins lining the hem. The dress made Hermione feel good, made her feel desirable.

_Not that I need to feel desirable. It’s just dinner with my family and my son’s family. That’s all this is._

Hermione met Draco and Lady Narcissa in the parlor, ready to Apparate. Lady Narcissa was stunning, as always, but Draco—

“Holy shit!” Hermione shouted. She walked over to and then behind Draco and said, “You cut your hair!”

“Your observational skills are in top form, Granger,” Draco said facetiously. He radiated tension but Hermione was too distracted by his hair to care. He’d kept it short all the way around but left it a bit longer on top. Of course, given his penchant for hair gel it was swooped and textured and it looked really good. Hermione reached up to touch Draco’s hair but thought better of it and smoothed out the shoulders of his dinner jacket instead. She caught Lady Narcissa smiling at them and rolled her eyes.

_I have to stop giving people reason to think Draco and I are anything but co-parents. We are a team, not a couple. Even if he does look rather stunning in this jacket._

“You can do this,” Hermione said. It seemed to be a thing she could do to perk him up. She looked him in the eyes and repeated, “We can do this.”

Draco nodded and said, “Okay. Let’s get on with it, then.”

They Apparated outside one of the nicest restaurants in London. Mrs. Granger greeted Lady Malfoy with a hug and Mr. Granger approached her with a smile and a warm handshake. Hermione saw her mother fix Draco with a smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes, trying to look past years of Hermione detailing every disgusting, racist thing Malfoy said.

Hermione’s father took one look at Draco, turned around with a disdainful expression on his face, and headed into the restaurant. Draco exhaled heavily through his nose and Hermione found she didn’t have any words to comfort him. Lady Malfoy patted Draco’s shoulder and followed Mrs. Granger into the restaurant. Draco admitted,

“I wish I could say it was the first time someone has looked at me like that.”

“I gave my father a second chance, he will give you one, too,” Hermione replied. Draco held the door open for Hermione and said,

“I am not quite sure I deserve one.”

A host led them back to one table near a series of floor-to-ceiling windows, overlooking a garden as the sun set. Draco swept in and pulled out Hermione’s chair so she nodded at him in thanks as she sat down. Hermione was already blushing; her mother took note and shot a knowing glance at Lady Narcissa.

Hermione felt strangely alone at their circular table, sandwiched between two Malfoys. Her father was at Narcissa’s right and her mother sat to Draco’s left. Anyone who didn’t know Draco would have assumed he was perfectly used to dining in Muggle establishments. But Hermione knew Draco Malfoy too well; while his disposition had changed his tells had not. She read the tension in the way he smoothed back his hair every now and then, when he cracked his knuckles, then when he stabbed his fork just a little too forcefully into the appetizer.

“Tell me, Draco,” Mr. Granger asked, “why do you believe Scorpius wound up in Hermione’s care?”

It was too innocent a question. Hermione knew it was leading somewhere unpleasant and one look at Draco told her he knew it, too.

“I imagine whomever left him in Hermione’s care knew exactly the kind of person she is.”

_Sorry, was that a compliment?_

“They knew she would see it was my child and trusted her protective instinct would overpower all the disdain she quite rightfully has for me. I must thank whomever left my child on Hermione’s doorstep for choosing such a good mother for my son. Right after I kill them for leaving my child there without any goddamn protection.”

Their entrees arrived, forcing everyone to take a breath. Mrs. Granger said,

“You speak very highly of Hermione.”

“Well he hasn’t always thought of her that way, right Mister Malfoy?” Hermione’s father asked.

“It is Lord Malfoy, sir,” Draco politely corrected him.

“I am aware,” Mr. Granger quipped without looking up from his meal.

Draco’s jaw twitched. It was a toss-up between his pride and the acknowledgement that he deserved the verbal beating he was about to receive. Lady Narcissa looked ready to slap Mr. Granger, but Draco said,

“If you ignored everything I did to Hermione while we were in school that would make you terrible parents. I should know, as my parents made many life-threatening mistakes.”

Lady Malfoy turned her glare on Draco but he refused to back down.

“Mother, haven’t you told them?” he taunted.

Lady Malfoy shook her head but Mrs. Granger replied, “Told us what?”

“My parents invited the Dark Lord to live in our home. The most dangerous wizard since Grindelwald lived in the manor for two years right until the end of the war. It was my father’s decision but Mother did not protest, as I recall. Father was quite happy to be in Azkaban when I was sixteen, because at least he was away from Lord Voldemort. Mother and I were not so lucky.”

“Draco, that’s enough,” Lady Malfoy hissed. Mrs. Granger held up a hand to silence her and insisted,

“Go on.”

“He tortured me,” Draco said. Hermione always suspected as much, but it was rather sad to hear him confirm it. She would never wish that on anyone, not even sixteen-year-old Malfoy.

“No one ever thinks about the child soldiers born on the wrong side of a war. No one asked what I suffered, no one wanted to know that Voldemort threatened to murder my mother if I failed to kill Dumbledore. No one actually cared why I did the things I did.”

Lady Malfoy stared at her napkin, clutched in white-knuckled fingers. Mrs. Granger reached across the table to cover Narcissa’s hand with her own.

“People see what they want to see in me, sir, so I am not surprised you have such an ardent dislike for me. I went through war and I did not come out a hero, Mr. Granger.”

“What does being a Malfoy mean to you, then?” Mr. Granger asked. “It certainly means something different to Hermione, and to us.”

“I stand up for my values and other people will follow,” Draco said. “My father valued blood purity, as did generations of Malfoys before him. I spent so long trying to convince myself he was right that I never realized why he was wrong.”

“Why was that?” Mr. Granger demanded to know.

“I never felt free until my father died, because you have to understand that while I hated Voldemort I loved my father. For the longest time I wanted to be my father. I idolized him even while he was in Azkaban. He represented everything it meant to be a proper Malfoy, a proper man.”

Words seemed to pour out of Draco’s mouth quicker than he could think about them, as though no one had ever asked him about any of this. It occurred rather belatedly to Hermione that perhaps no one ever had.

“Once my father died I realized the name does not define me. No one can tell me what it means to be Draco Malfoy, and Granger had the same problem having been given a label she cannot change. Why should she apologize for being Muggle-born? It is not a crime to be who you are. All I wanted was to be myself and think for myself, and I realized Hermione wanted the same thing. It was people like me keeping her from being who she is, and I refuse to make anyone else feel the way Voldemort and my father made me feel.”

Mr. Granger looked at him pensively. Draco turned his attention to his duck confit to escape that gaze which seemed to burn a hole straight through him. Draco’s honesty finally caught up with him and Hermione grabbed his hand before he could start cracking his knuckles again.

“Narcissa,” Mr. Granger asked, “is this accurate?”

“You must understand, once the Dark Lord returned we were forced back into his ranks,” Lady Malfoy replied, looking fit to burst into tears at any moment. “You cannot imagine the power he had! The things he would have done to us, to Draco if we rebelled—“

“It sounds like he did enough,” Mr. Granger cut her off. Draco went very still and Lady Malfoy quietly snapped,

“What did you do for your daughter, Jack?! Flee to Australia? We never had that option! Lucius was branded with His mark and the Dark Lord could find us anywhere we chose to hide. Then he Marked Draco to be sure we could never hide him away and sacrifice ourselves.”

As her parents and Narcissa kept shouting at each other, Hermione leaned toward Draco and whispered, “Is that true?”

He nodded and Hermione felt her heart crack right down the middle. Lady Narcissa, normally poised and regal, was one wrong word away from smacking Jack Granger upside the head, the Muggle presence be damned. Hermione realized there was so much she didn’t know about the kind of life Draco had been living. After at least fifteen more minutes of squabbling their waiter came to clear their plates and Mrs. Granger announced,

“Enough! If our children have put the past behind them we should do the same. I love our grandson and he deserves a family that isn’t frayed around the edges.”

“Speaking of Scorpius, I want to know what Draco has to say about Hermione’s role in his life,” Mr. Granger asked.

“She is his mother, I am his father, and we are a team,” Draco shrugged.

“I like hearing that from you, son,” Mr. Granger replied, “but I have to wonder what made you feel this way. I don’t want to live in fear that one day you’re going to change your mind about my daughter and try to undo everything we’ve built while you were absent.”

He lobbed “absent” at Draco like an insult, but Hermione was angrier about it than Draco was. Draco leaned forward and looked at Mr. Granger with the best impression of Lucius Malfoy Hermione had ever seen.

“Legally, I have grounds to force Hermione entirely out of his life. I could have kicked her out of my home and said Scorpius is not her son. I chose not to do either of those things because your daughter has done what I never would have been able to do: give my son a proper family.”

“You consider us a proper family?” Mr. Granger challenged.

“Non-traditional, certainly, but Scorpius has more love in his life than I ever did. I never want my son to feel like he has to be anything other than who he is to be worthy of my love, or Hermione’s. And make no mistake, of the two of us Hermione is the most likely to break our arrangement. She has a bag in Scorp’s nursery I wager she was hoping I would not notice. Filled it with everything she would need to take Scorpius and run. Nappies, onesies, Galleons, stuff like that I imagine.”

Hermione paled.

_He isn’t supposed to know about that._

“I know the kind of man I want to be now, one who cares for his family,” Draco said. “I will spend the rest of my days undoing the legacy of my father, and that starts with caring for my son. So I do not begrudge you whatever you may think of me. I was horrible to your daughter, Mr. Granger. Hermione has no reason to trust me, no reason to see any good in me, but she is still here and that is more than I ever could have asked for. I do not expect you to forgive me. Just know that it will not affect your daughter’s role in my life or my son’s. Ending up on Hermione’s doorstep is the best thing that could have happened to Scorpius, given the circumstances.”

_That is the nicest thing anyone has ever said about me, and it came from Draco Malfoy._

Dessert came and went; both Hermione and Draco’s mothers were blushing and teary-eyed while Hermione found herself unable to say much of anything. Mr. Granger pulled Draco aside as they left and they spoke for a minute. Whatever it was about, she could tell it was serious by the look on Draco’s face and that he cast _Muffliato_. Whatever Draco said, he obviously had the right answers because Mr. Granger shook his hand and patted him on the shoulder. When Hermione asked what it was about, her father refused to answer except to say,

“We can trust him.”

Upon their return to Malfoy Manor, Hermione shouted for Draco to follow her. She led him out of the parlor and two _“Oh shit is this the right hallway?”_ s later brought him into the nursery. Draco watched as Hermione grabbed her prep bag and emptied it onto the floor. He was right about the contents: nappies, Galleons, onesies, and a changing mat. She tossed the bag on the floor and said,

“Do not make me regret this.”


	12. Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hits you right in the honey nut feelios.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super special thank you to Susanna for beta-ing this chapter. It is nice to have a second pair of eyes on it. I had to edit out a lot of the Blaise/Dean backstory so it has its own fic now! If you'd like to read about how they met and their first dates, check out ["Boy, Look at you, Looking at Me."](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14194974/chapters/32720265)
> 
> 8/17/2018: The ending of this chapter featuring Blaise and Dean was moved to the beginning of Chapter 13. Minor additional changes were made to chapter text to improve narrative flow. Unfortunately that means this chapter now ends on a new line, and the line previously making up the final sentence of this chapter is now part of the beginning portion of Chapter 13.

Draco Malfoy was gone the next morning.

Hermione slept in for the first time in ages and awoke to an empty nursery. It wouldn’t have alarmed her except she peeked into Draco’s room (It’s not spying if he leaves the door open.) and he wasn’t there. He was not in his study or his mother’s, but Hermione eventually found Scorpius at the breakfast table in the arms of Lady Narcissa.

“Good morning, Miss Granger,” she said.

“Where is Draco?!” Hermione shouted.

“Clearly your manners are a work in progress; Abigail should have taught you better. To answer your question, my son left an hour ago to tie up loose ends. Personal business, you understand.”

“Our son is his personal business!” Hermione insisted.

“And as I said, he is tying up loose ends.”

“Is that Malfoy speak for ‘doing something illegal?’ Because I—“

“Go to work, Miss Granger,” Narcissa cut her off. “You are so ridiculously set on it, your first day back is hardly the optimal time for tardiness.”

Hermione hated that, hated being spoken to like being worried was her fault. Like Draco hadn’t promised the night before to do his best at caring for Scorpius, then run off the very next morning without so much as a note.

“I agreed to leave Scorpius in Draco’s care. Not yours, not Blaise’s, and not Dean’s. If my son changes hands I need to know about it,” Hermione insisted.

“And now you know,” Lady Malfoy coolly replied.

It was 9:15 and Hermione did not want to test Chief Healer Battlehunt’s patience. She huffed angrily and took Scorpius when he reached out to her.

“I’m so sorry, I thought your father would be here,” Hermione murmured to him. “I will have a long chat with him about that, and Lady Malfoy is going to owl me as soon as Draco gets home. But I have to go to work today, Scorp. And tomorrow and the next day … I will miss you so much!”

Hermione kissed the top of Scorp’s head and returned him to Lady Narcissa.

“As soon as he returns!” she demanded.

**.oOo.**

The Maeve Ward at St. Mungo’s was more of a laboratory that specialized in rare cases, finding antidotes and remedies for maladies no one had seen before. Hermione loved being able to take other people’s research and apply it to new things, to help people previously considered lost causes.

When the front desk called Hermione down she assumed Draco had returned to the manor. She definitely did not expect to find Parvati Patil waiting for her. Hermione hid her surprise and hugged Parvati as she asked,

“Parvati! What are you doing here?”

“You remember earlier this year I got promoted to features writer at _Witch Weekly_?” Parvati asked.

_Oh, that explains why she never followed-up for my last interview. I was just so busy with Scorp …_

“Right, yeah …”

“We are friends, right, Hermione?” Parvati asked.

“Of course,” Hermione replied, suddenly suspicious. “Of course we are.”

“Well, _Witch Weekly_ got a tip that Draco Malfoy has returned to England.”

“Has he now?” Hermione asked, her voice very high at the end. She looked down at the floor as Parvati dropped the proverbial bomb,

“And we know you moved into Malfoy Manor.”

“Oh,” Hermione replied.

“Now, I held them off from printing the rumours because I think I can get you to give me a feature. You, Draco, the forbidden love … It’ll be the biggest-selling issue in the history of _Witch Weekly_!”

“We aren’t a couple,” Hermione insisted. Parvati cast her a doubtful look and grabbed Hermione’s right hand.

“Then what the hell is this?”

“A gift,” Hermione said, really starting to regret wearing the ring outside the manor. But it felt … nice. Hermione hated that it did, but it was a symbol of acceptance from her son’s family. Why wouldn’t she want to be reminded of that? If Narcissa Malfoy said she was Scorp’s mother, then it had to be true for everyone, right?

“A gift?” Parvati asked skeptically. “Malfoys do not give gifts to Muggle-borns, Hermione. Try again.”

Hermione groaned and dragged Parvati over to a corner. She whispered,

“It’s a gift … from my son’s grandmother.”

“You have a son?” Parvati asked. “Narcissa Malfoy is your son’s grandmother? But that means … You and Draco …”

“Yeah,” Hermione nodded. “We share a son.”

“Merlin’s beard!” Parvati squealed. Hermione shushed her and Parvati whispered, “An illicit affair? That is so much better! How old is he? When did it happen? Was it great? I bet Draco was great on the job, wasn’t he?”

“You can’t print any of this,” Hermione insisted. “It’s all very new, and Draco just got back.”

“What do you mean I can’t print this?!” Parvati exclaimed. “This is the biggest story in the past decade! And you know how it looks, Hermione.”

“How what looks?” Hermione challenged.

_Of course I know, but I want to hear you say it._

“You moving into Malfoy Manor the week before Draco returns from America? You having his child? Hermione, it looks like you are his whore,” Parvati said. Hermione felt the blood draining from her face. She knew, of course, but it was different to hear it from a friend.

“And I know you aren’t,” Parvati insisted, “but you must realize _Witch Weekly_ will print what they know unless you give them something better. Give _me_ something better and it will be favourable to you, I’ll let you set the parameters—“

“While you get to write the story everyone in the wizarding world will want to read,” Hermione observed. Parvati shrugged.

“Of course. I jumped on this, but I also don’t want your reputation to be dragged through the mud. Especially after what happened with Ron, this is not a good look.”

Hermione grit her teeth.

“Yes. Ron. Everything comes back to Ron, doesn’t it?” Hermione said bitterly.

_But it would make him jealous, wouldn’t it?_

“I’ll do it. Let me talk to Draco and convince him.”

“Yes!” Parvati squealed in delight. She gave Hermione another hug and said, “Thank you! Owl me when it’s done!”

**.oOo.**

Hermione stepped out of the Floo after work and ran right into Draco’s back. It was like stumbling into a very pale, nicely-dressed brick wall. He was in dark green robes and did not bother to turn around to look at Hermione. Instead, he walked out of the parlor and up the staircase toward their bedrooms.

“Hey!” Hermione shouted after him, but Draco pretended he hadn’t heard.

She followed him, watched as he tossed his robes onto a nearby chair and ran his fingers through his hair.

_Anxious. He’s been doing something unpleasant then._

“Draco?” Hermione asked.

Again, he feigned ignorance and Hermione was no longer patient.

“Malfoy! What’s wrong?” she asked.

Draco stilled in his doorway. He didn’t bother turning around when he spoke.

“I am not talking about it right now, Granger.”

Then he slammed the door. Hermione tried to open it, but the door was locked. _Alohamora_ didn’t work, so Hermione started banging on Draco’s door. When he didn’t answer, she walked into Scorp’s nursery in time to see Draco shirking his button-down.

America had done him well. Draco Malfoy had pulled on a pair of track pants, slung low on his hips, evidently preparing for a run by stuffing his feet into a well-worn pair of trainers. Hermione’s eyes lingered on his chest. His midsection was lean and toned, the muscles tensing while Hermione gaped at them. It was the three large, raised, diagonal scars across his chest that had Hermione at a loss for words. Each was the width of two fingers and they wrapped around his ribcage like gnarled ribbons.

“Courtesy of your best friend Potter,” Draco spat before slamming the door shut.

Hermione found Draco outside an hour later, sitting on the steps that led to the garden. It must have been a beautiful run, with the sun just beginning to set and illuminating the top of the border hedge until it disappeared beyond the horizon. Draco sat with his back to the house, head between his knees and hands clasped on the nape of his neck. Hermione sat down next to him, not sure what to do.

Draco finally looked up and said, “The one benefit to being in America was that I forgot how people look at me here.”

‘What do you mean?” Hermione asked.

“Everyone else gets recompense, gets a second chance. Me? Never, because I was Marked. I was proud of it then because it made me feel like an adult, but I was sixteen and stupid. People look at me the way you look at things you fear and things you hate. Maybe even Scorpius will be afraid of me and then I will have truly become my father.”

He shuddered at the thought or the cold, perhaps both, so Hermione leaned over to give him a hug. It was the weirdest moment of her life. Stranger than snogging her best friend in the middle of a battle. Even stranger than finding a baby on her doorstep. Hermione Granger hugged Draco Malfoy, who rested a hand on her arm and his head against her shoulder.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, and Hermione didn’t find it as odd at the end as she did at the beginning. In fact, it was almost … pleasant.

“Are you afraid of me, Hermione?”

_Hermione._

“I don’t want to be,” she answered.

“Are you?” he repeated.

“I’m afraid of pushing you too far,” she admitted. “Part of me thinks you are genuine, you have changed, and I like you. I trust my instinct on this and I believe what you said at dinner yesterday. But another part remembers what you were like and I worry you will slip back into it. I remember you and your mother standing by as I was Crucioed for nothing other than being who I am! So, of course I have a bag packed and ready to take my son on the run! And of course I get antsy when you don’t do as you promise!”

“I left Scorp with my mother—“

“It doesn’t matter!” Hermione insisted. “You told me he would be with you, and he wasn’t. Scorp is the most important thing in my world and I panic when I don’t know what is happening around him.”

Draco nodded and said, “That is fair. I apologize, I never thought of it that way.”

“So make it up to me,” Hermione demanded. “Tell me where you were and why you came back so upset.”

“I went to see Daphne,” Draco said. “She was quite stunned to learn I am the father of her nephew. Odd for such a thing to slip your mind like that, Granger.”

“She said she would owl me when she was ready to know,” Hermione replied.

“Well, she will be coming to our celebration next month to meet our son.”

“Why would that have upset you?”

“Because I also went to see her parents,” Draco revealed.

“Oh,” Hermione gasped.

“They will not be bothering you or Scorpius,” Draco said, much to Hermione’s relief.

“What did they say?”

“Nothing you need to hear,” Draco replied, but Hermione wouldn’t let him dodge the question.

“Tell me!” she demanded.

“I do not want you to know the way people speak about me,” Draco said. “My point is, they will not be coming to claim rights over our son.”

_There it is again, “our son.”_

“Draco,” Hermione pressed, “I want to know what they said. Tell me why you came back angry.”

He ground his teeth together, considering his options. He cracked his knuckles again and Hermione rolled her eyes.

“They said they wanted no claim over a child whose father avoided being sent to prison for their cause by cavorting about with a Mudblood whore.”

“Oh,” Hermione wrinkled her nose distastefully. She expected much worse. Hell, she’d heard worse out of Draco himself. She asked, “They know I hated you, right? I would have rather been bitten by a Blast-ended Skrewt than have shagged you back then.”

“And now?” Draco teased.

“Dunno,” Hermione shrugged playfully. “We already have a son, I suppose we skipped that part.”

“My money was on the Skrewt, anyway,” Draco laughed. Hermione bumped her shoulder against his and said,

“I love my son, Draco. I believe that staying here is the best I can do for him. If it comes down to it, I trust you to have Scorp’s best interest at heart.”

“Even if I fuck up sometimes?” Draco asked.

“Even then,” Hermione agreed.

“There is something I want to do tomorrow with Scorpius,” Draco said. “Will you come with me?”

“Of course, but there is something else I need to discuss with you.”

“And I with you,” Draco replied. “You first.”

Hermione took a deep breath and said, “We’ve been outed.”

“ _Wizards Quarterly?”_ he guessed.

“ _Witch Weekly_ ,” Hermione countered. Draco mumbled something about “that fucking tabloid garbage” but Hermione continued.

“Parvati says she can hold them off if we give her a feature.”

“Clever girl,” Draco smiled. Hermione felt her cheeks warm with envy. She shouldn’t feel possessive over an adjective, but the way Draco said it … It sounded wrong applied to Parvati.

_That is my word. Don’t smile when you think about her, don’t be impressed by her transparent machinations. What must I do to get you to speak about me that way?_

“We should do it,” Hermione said. “I think it gives us the opportunity to control the story.”

“And you get to avoid the appearance of any impropriety,” Draco added. “Do we get to set the stage for questions?”

“Yes.”

“No photos of Scorpius, no questions about Scorpius’s mother, and under no circumstances are they to reveal his name.”

“Agreed.” But Hermione had to ask the question. It was uncomfortable, but it had to be said.

“What are we to the public, Draco?” she asked.

He shrugged in response.

“Whatever you wish us to be, I suppose. If you keep wearing the ring, though, no one will believe we are merely, what is it you said? Co-parenting?” He waved his hand around like the word was meaningless but he would entertain the notion anyway.

“Yes, um, if we aren’t … Will I still be considered his mother?”

“No,” Draco answered bluntly. “Not by everyone, but by the people who matter, of course you will be. Since when do you care about outsiders defining your family?”

“Since my son has your legacy to uphold,” Hermione answered.

“The Malfoy name,” Draco spat. “More of a curse for him than a privilege.”

“Then make it something else!” Hermione insisted. “But we have to convince other people to take me seriously as his parent, and I don’t know another way to do that.”

“We can present ourselves as a couple,” Draco said, “but what of Weasley?”

“Ronald and I broke up well over three years ago,” Hermione said, and Draco turned to look at her.

“I am not surprised. You were always too much for him, too intelligent for him, too, if you ask me. If he appreciated you as a lover, as a friend, he will want to kill me for staking claim over you.”

“Ronald is married with a child due any day now, and I am not an owl to be claimed!” Hermione insisted.

“Unless …” Draco’s smile turned into a devious grin that Hermione hadn’t seen in a decade. “You want to do this. You want to be splashed on the cover of the most-read tabloid in Britain on the arm of Weasley’s enemy to convince everyone you have moved on.”

_Oh, fuck you._

“Fuck you, Draco, you insensitive, arrogant, presumptive son of a—“

“There’s my girl,” Draco said, his smile widening.

“I am not your girl, Draco Malfoy!” Hermione insisted.

“Aren’t you, though?” he teased.

_Well, yes. I suppose, in a way, I am._

“What was it you wanted to tell me?” Hermione asked, but Draco shrugged her off.

“It can wait.”

**.oOo.**

Cemeteries have a unique brand of cold. There was no wind, which made for a frigid silence. Every movement, every step could be heard from several metres away. (Several headstones away.) Scorpius was crying, not happy with his first Portkey experience, so Hermione bounced up him up and down against her hip. Draco hadn’t said where they were going after Hermione returned from work on Tuesday; just showed up with a bouquet of purple tulips and white irises then told her to grab hold of the Portkey.

“You may follow me,” Draco said, taking hold of Scorpius.

It took a few more seconds for Hermione to realize where they were.

_Why am I here?_

Draco made his way to Astoria’s grave like he had been there before. It was situated near the edge of the cemetery in a cluster of other seemingly-forgotten graves. Hermione trailed a couple metres behind because this felt private and like she shouldn’t be there at all. Astoria’s headstone was simple, and Draco placed the flowers in the vase attached to the side.

_ Astoria Greengrass _

_ January 19th, 1982 – June 3rd, 2006 _

_ MEMENTO VIVERE _

Draco stood silently for a moment, his shoulders stiff and his spine rigid like he was bracing for a hit. He swallowed hard and said,

“I thought about what I had to say from the moment I heard you were dead. For the longest time I could not come up with anything except, ‘I am sorry I did this to you.’ I know I was wrong. You were my friend and I used you to cope with what I thought was a suicide mission. I used you and it killed you; I have to live with that now.

“But I looked at Scorpius this morning and realized, ‘Oh my God, this is my son!’ I knew it, but it was like I was missing the part of myself I needed to love him the right way. I think I resented him because he is the reason you are not here anymore. However, I understand how wrong that is now. This was your decision and I have to respect it, and you know what? I am grateful for Scorpius. I am. He has brought so much into my life that I did not realize I could have because family used to mean something different to me.”

Draco broke off and chuckled quietly to himself.

“Everyone loves Scorpius and he gets that from you. Granger and I are two of the most dislikable people on the planet, it seems, so that definitely comes from you. Scorpius does not look like you at all, I’m afraid. He looks like me, so naturally he will attract all the boys and girls at school.”

His attempt at humour fell flat. Scorpius stilled in Draco’s arms as he finally stopped acting like he could hold himself together. He was crying and had to take a deep breath before he could continue. He shuddered and said,

“Scorp will never get to know you. He will never hear your stupid laugh or get the opportunity to make fun of you for eating those takeaway noodles with a fork. I never loved you and I am sorry for that. Maybe in another life we could have been good parents. Both sets of ours were real shit so we would have at least been an improvement.

“Granger did a good job caring for him; you chose well. You always understood people at their core, which is why I cannot figure out what you saw in me to believe I can be a good father. I know you did not intend for me to end up with all these new people in my life, just Scorpius, but it is so much better than I could have asked for. So much better than I deserve.”

Draco was clutching Scorpius, not enough to be uncomfortable, but enough to catch his attention. Scorpius looked up at his father curiously, recognizing the tears tracking down Draco’s face as something bad. Scorpius lifted his arm and tried to press his hand against Draco’s cheek to wipe his tears away like Hermione had done for him so many times before. Of course, Scorpius really ended up smacking Draco’s in the face, but it did manage to make him smile.

When he spoke again, his voice was heavy with tears he had yet to cry.

“I miss you, Astoria. I took you for granted while you were alive and you still chose to give me all this. I did not deserve that, and you knew it, but you did it anyway. Thank you for choosing me, and thank you for choosing Granger. Hermione and I are building Scorpius the home you would have wanted for him. Together, if you can believe it.”

_Together._

“Scorp smiles like you. I don’t know if you knew, but your mouth made this funny little bean shape when you laughed. Daphne and I used to make fun of you for it. Scorp has my face but he has your expressions. He has your quiet disposition and I pray that we raise him to be as good and as caring as you were.

“I just want you to know that I am never going to forget you,” Draco’s voice cracked and he pressed his forehead to the crown of Scorp’s head. “I will make sure Scorpius grows up to know the kind-hearted person you were, and I will appreciate every part of you that I see in my son.”

Hermione couldn’t help it, her feet were moving before she told them to. She wrapped her arms around Draco, embracing her family, trying to console him. He cried into her shoulder for a few minutes and she let him because that’s how they were going to do things: together.


	13. Rewrite the Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That dweam wiffin a dweam ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SUPER BIG THANK YOU TO SUSANNA FOR BETA-ING THIS CHAPTER! As for what happens at wizard weddings, I have no clue. We get a bit of Bill and Fleur's, but nothing in this chapter is based on canon other than the fact that Lee Jordan would 100% officiate the best ceremonies.
> 
> 8/17/2018: The end of Chapter 12 was moved to the beginning of this chapter. Not-insignificant changes were made to the chapter text to improve narrative flow and shorten the chapter length.
> 
> 9/14/2018: The beginning of Chapter 14 was moved to the end of this chapter.

Dean arrived shortly before Hermione left for work on Wednesday, and he was still a little off. Still friendly, but without Blaise there was an undercurrent of melancholy to him.

Scorp was down for his forty-minute nap while everyone else was in the parlor to say good-bye to Dean. They were discussing Scorp’s new love of peas when the Floo started up. Blaise Zabini stepped out of the green flames, followed shortly by Lee Jordan.

Dean tensed immediately.

“I have a football match with my mates I really need to get to,” he said. Whether it was true, Hermione didn’t know, but he was practically diving for the Floo powder when Blaise shouted,

“Dean, wait!”

For some reason, he did. His outstretched arm stilled almost comically in the air before Dean turned to face his (ex)boyfriend.

“Did you know about this?” Hermione whispered to Draco.

“Of course I did,” he whispered back. “Blaise is fucking miserable, I had to do something.”

“Why is Lee Jordan here?”

“Patience, Granger, you will see,” Draco teased. Blaise ignored their tittering and walked over so he and Dean were merely an arm’s length apart.

“You said I could not come to your door, so I came to Draco’s instead,” Blaise said. “I know you do not think you want to see me right now, and I will leave you alone forever if that is what you want. At least let me make my case first, please,” Blaise begged.

“You have five minutes,” Dean conceded. Blaise smiled and dove right in.

“This past two months have been hell. I thought about what I want to tell you and I know this time I have to get it right because I have bungled it so many times in the past. It is so fucking selfish, but I cannot bear the thought of you with anyone else. You making another man laugh, you looking at him the way you look at me now … I refuse to let that happen only because I did not try hard enough to tell you why I love you more than anyone. My mother never taught me to express affection properly. Or at all, really. When you asked why I love you I thought of a hundred things but I could not figure out how to tell you.

“How do you tell someone they are the first person to make you feel like you deserve to be loved?” Dean raised an eyebrow at that. “How do you tell someone that they are the reason you finally understand why you are the way you are? Dean Thomas, I have never regretted anything more than the months I have spent without you. Knowing how happy you make me all the time, having that ripped away was the worst feeling and I did not fully appreciate it until I no longer had you. It is only you now, and I cannot imagine a time that will not be true. I have been yours since the moment you tried to lecture me on fabric.”

Dean laughed, suddenly misty-eyed. Blaise said,

“So I asked myself, what do I miss about you?”

“Tell me it’s the t-shirts,” Dean insisted, chuckling and wiping his eyes with the heels of his hands.

“I miss the t-shirts,” Blaise admitted with a smile. “But I also miss how you steal tastes of everything I cook before it’s done. I miss watching you play that stupid game—“

“Football.”

“—with your stupid friends. I miss your face and I really, really miss your abs. I miss you yelling at the screen in the living area.”

“The telly, Blaise. It’s … It’s the television.”

“I miss you trying to teach me all these Muggle things I am never going to remember. I like that you love helping people. You are the friendliest, most compassionate person I have ever met, and I could never be either of those things. I look at you and I wonder how someone so fucking delightful, how such an unbelievably good person could ever love me the way you do. Because of all that, and so many more things I love about you, I want you at my side for the rest of my life.”

Blaise knelt in front of Dean and pulled a platinum wedding band from his pocket.

“Oh my God!” Hermione yelped and clutched Draco’s elbow.

“Oh, no,” Dean shook his head. “No! You did not corner me in Draco Malfoy’s house to propose to me!”

“I did,” Blaise said with a confident smile. “Dean Thomas, will you marry me?”

Dean looked over to Lee Jordan, then back to Blaise.

“Now?” he asked.

“Now,” Blaise repeated.

“Yes, I will marry you right now,” Dean said.

“Are you certain?” Blaise asked.

Dean nodded one final time and Blaise stood up to place the ring on his finger. Blaise pulled Dean down by the collar of his sweatshirt and kissed him sweetly. It wasn’t the hungry sort of I-haven’t-had-this-in-a-month kiss Hermione would have expected. It was sweet and grateful, like they were confident they could work through anything.

Hermione wiped her eyes and giggled as Draco wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Hermione leaned into his side, happy for Blaise and Dean. They were her family and she was honoured to be part of this moment.

 _I want that._ That _is the love I want._

“Now?!” Lady Malfoy interjected, pulling Hermione from her thoughts. Narcissa took out her wand and asked, “What do you mean now? I need at least forty-five minutes to plan a wedding!”

Green flames erupted from the fireplace. Blaise turned to Draco and asked, “Who did you bring?”

To add to the chaos, Ginny stepped out of the Floo and brushed off her dress. She moved out of the way as Romilda Vane appeared behind her. They both looked around to survey the room before Romilda asked,

“He said yes, right? Because if not, Dean Thomas I swear I will have Ginny kick your well-toned arse—“

“Romi!” Blaise shouted. Once she paused, Blaise smiled and revealed, “He said yes!”

“Finally!” Ginny shouted before playfully punching Dean in the shoulder. “We thought you two would be engaged months ago!”

Before anyone could respond, the Floo started up yet again. Draco was headed toward the fireplace before their visitor even materialized.

“Theo!” Draco shouted and gripped his friend in a tight hug. Theo wrapped his arms around Draco’s shoulders just as tightly.

“Oi, mate, it is so good to see you! How long have you been back?”

“A week now,” Draco replied.

“What the hell have you been doing? You should’ve come ‘round, the twins miss you. Trace’s been begging to get you back over since you’re the best nanny we’ve ever had,” Theo teased.

Draco glanced toward Hermione and said, “I have … news.”

Theo eyed her up-and-down and greeted her with a neutral, “Granger.” Hermione repeated the gesture. Theo Nott had a full brown beard, short hair, and smiled in a complete contrast from the gangly, angry boy Hermione remembered from Hogwarts. He looked really good, taller than both Draco and Blaise, clad in light grey dress robes.

“I am the one getting married here!” Blaise shouted playfully. Theo laughed and pulled Blaise into a tight hug.

Romilda raised her hand and said, “Not to break up this annual meeting of the Society of the Dashing Wizards of England—“

“I am Italian,” Blaise insisted.

“—but don’t we have a timetable?”

Lee Jordan said, “Midnight weddings are amazing. There is a fantastic thing I can do with stars, I only did it once, but—“

“Midnight! That is five hours, oh, perfect,” Lady Malfoy agreed. “Scorpius should be down by eleven.”

“Scorpius?” Theo asked. He turned to Draco and asked, “Scorpius?!”

“Yeah, I, um, I have a kid now, Theo,” Draco answered in disbelief.

Theo’s gaze wandered over to Hermione and he said, “I don’t believe it!” He broke out into a huge grin and pushed Draco backward, “You lucky son of a bitch! You actually landed Granger! Merlin’s arse I never thought she would … Well, that’s a lie, I think we all knew it was going to happen.”

“Enough! I have no time for your schoolyard drivel!” Lady Malfoy insisted. She snapped at Draco and Hermione. “You two take Theo upstairs to meet Scorpius. Romilda, Mrs. Potter, I will need you with me and the elves in the garden. Mr. Jordan, please accompany us. Blaise Zabini if you think I am letting you marry this man in anything less than your finest dress robes you have another thing coming …”

And off they went. Before Hermione could ask about what just happened, Draco had her arm and guided her toward the stairs. Theo followed them and asked,

“So what made you finally cave to baser instincts, Granger? I see he even cut his hair for you, nice touch, always thought it was just a bit too Lucius Malfoy for me.”

“Theo, we are not a couple!” Draco exclaimed.

“Oh, just a good shag, then?” Theo assumed. “Shame, that, I thought—“

“Hermione, wait inside, please,” Draco cut Theo off with his request. Hermione considered protesting, but Draco hadn’t seen Theo in ages so she rolled her eyes and obliged him this once. She slipped inside the nursery and closed the door, but headed into her bedroom because that door was still open.

_Sneaky bastard still can’t remember all these rooms are connected._

She leaned against the wall and listened as their conversation filtered in.

“Astoria is Scorp’s birth mother. She …” he paused and choked up a bit. “She died shortly after she gave birth to him and Hermione took care of Scorpius afterward. As if I needed to be more in debt to her, like I do not already owe her my life! We are not a couple, Theo. I got back and she lives here now. She fucking lives here!”

“Holy hell, mate, are you okay?” Theo asked, concerned. “Being this close to her, I mean?”

“Yeah, she has been amazing! I mean, she hit me and I yelled at her, but she has given me so much more than I deserve. Which almost makes this worse, because …”

“Because she doesn’t know you’ve been carrying a torch for her since you were thirteen?” Theo asked.

_WHAT?!_

“Shut up!” Draco whisper-shouted. “She does not need to know, in fact she cannot know because we are just trying to take care of the kid. I can’t do this by myself, I need her here and that would scare her off. Scorp is the most important thing in my life now and I am terrified of fucking this up.”

“Your mother’s friends won’t be happy about this,” Theo warned.

“I don’t care!” Draco whisper-shouted. “I need her help! I have been gone so long trying to get back that damn Time-Turner you built—“

_WHAT?!_

“—and I missed out on so much of Blaise’s life and I have not seen the twins in over a year. Do they even remember me?”

“Of course they remember you!” Theo insisted. “They were nearly five when you left …”

Hermione didn’t need to hear any more. In a daze, she wandered over to the nursery so it wouldn’t appear she had been spying.

_Malfoy has feelings for me and doesn’t want me to know? I am so confused._

Except Hermione realized that wasn’t quite true. She was interested in Draco Malfoy, and Theo Nott knew it, too. Scorpius was happily snoozing in his crib, clutching his green blanket as Draco was busy telling Theo everything he’d learned about his son. Theo surveyed Hermione curiously and told Draco,

“Seems your life is even better than the one you left behind when you departed for America.”

Draco looked up at Hermione and said, “Yeah, yeah it is.”

**.oOo.**

Hermione believed Draco had fully converted to the new ways so she was unafraid to ask him about Pureblood traditions. She was nearly finished pinning up her hair when she said,

“I thought the ceremony had to be performed by a Ministry wizard.”

“That boring old codger?” Draco scoffed from her bedroom doorway. “Please. Blaise, and apparently Dean, have been friends with LJ for years and he does ceremonies during the Quidditch offseason. Let’s just say it is a lively ceremony when Lee Jordan is involved and leave it at that.”

Hermione asked questions almost faster than Draco could hear them. Later when she was buttoning up her coat, she asked,

“Since Dean is a Half-blood, will he get two rings as well?”

“That’s … complicated,” Draco answered.

“In your world, what isn’t?” Hermione shot back.

“Fair play, Granger,” Draco laughed. “Since Blaise does not know his father he has no tradition to carry on. Even if he did, his mother would have expected him to marry a woman to keep the line going. That was never in the cards for Blaise both because he is gay and hated his mother. My mother had to plan the funeral for her.”

“Really?!” Hermione asked, surprised.

“Well my mother would plan a celebration every time Scorp wet his nappy if we let her,” Draco replied. Hermione laughed and Draco smiled back.

_I might get used to this._

She spun around in front of her mirror to do a final survey. Her periwinkle coat essentially doubled as a dress, with four buttons above the waist before it flared out. She paired the coat with thick black tights and heeled boots, as the silver trim along the hemline and cuffs aligned with the wedding colours. She felt like she could get used to going out like this: dressed up on the arm of Draco Malfoy.

“You look lovely,” Draco said.

Hermione surveyed him in return. He wore gold dress robes with a cream vest underneath with shoes to match. Looking at him just then, she understood why people were so drawn to him. He was radiant, seeming to absorb the room’s light and cast it out like an aura. He had one shoulder against the doorframe, with a cocky “I know how good I look” sort of smile. While it infuriated her, she envied that self-assuredness. On an even deeper, baser level ... she found it kind of sexy.

“Thank you. You look rather dashing yourself,” Hermione replied.

“You wore a dress that colour to the Yule Ball,” Draco observed.

“Yes,” Hermione said, surprised. “Yes I did.”

_Why do you remember that?_

Draco offered his hand and Hermione took it, checked that Scorpius was still asleep, and Draco led her downstairs. They met Lady Malfoy at the bottom of the staircase and she nodded approvingly at Hermione. (Or to where Draco was still holding her hand, Hermione really couldn’t tell.)

Draco led Hermione through the gardens, about a five-minute walk to an ornately-decorated gazebo. White fairy lights wound their way around the pillars and up to the tip of the transparent wire roof. Navy blue drapes curved along the rim of the roof; where they met at every pillar there was a bouquet of poinsettias and silver roses.

“Wow,” Hermione sighed. Her breath clouded as it left her lips and she shivered. Draco wrapped an arm around her waist and guided her up the steps. The temperature jumped several degrees once she stepped inside the gazebo, no doubt due to a warming charm. Draco let her go as he went to stand behind Blaise and she took a spot behind where Dean would be, next to Ginny.

Blaise Zabini was gorgeous and Hermione never fully appreciated that until she saw him in his wedding regalia. He wore deep red dress robes that made his eyes sparkle gold. Blaise had pulled his dreadlocks from their usual updo and into a large fishtail braid that fell below his shoulders. Hermione leaned over to Ginny and whispered,

“He looks like a king.”

“I know!” she exclaimed. “Wait until you see Dean, Romilda did amazing work in such little time. Honestly, you have made quite the little family here.”

“Where is Dean?” Hermione asked, pivoting away from that last statement. “It’s 11:56--”

“Here!” Dean shouted, jumping the steps in one go and pulling Blaise into a deep kiss that made everyone blush. Romilda was close behind him shouting,

“Sorry, sorry! I had a small problem with a button but it’s fixed and I am ready to witness this glorious moment!”

“Thank you, Romilda, we were all very concerned about Dean’s button,” Lee Jordan said facetiously. “Now, Dean, if you could pry your lips from Blaise’s face for one minute ...”

He directed the audience to form a semicircle around the back half of the gazebo as he stood across from them, near the steps. Blaise and Dean clasped their left arms together, thumbs resting in the crook of the other’s elbow. Dean was already wearing his platinum wedding band, which was another indication this wedding would not be like any Hermione had ever witnessed.

“Midnight!” Lee Jordan announced, his voice booming over the sounds of the Malfoy gardens.

He raised his wand and everyone looked up to see a single star fall from the sky. It got closer and closer until it fell between the intricate wires of the roof and a small white light landed atop Dean’s ring. Then another star fell, and another, then another until it was raining small bursts of light and the sky appeared nearly black. The stars wound around their arms, binding them together. Once the final star landed atop Blaise’s ring finger, the stars shone bright bound together to form a glowing white rope. Dean and Blaise were bound together by a rope of starlight and it was absolutely amazing.

Lee Jordan smiled as he officially began the ceremony.

“Dean Ezra Thomas, Blaise Allessio Zabini, we are gathered here to join you two lucky bastards in marriage. We are witness to and supporters of the commitment you are making to each other. Marriage is telling the other person that no matter how trying life becomes, no matter what god-awful decisions you make along your journey to happiness you will be at their side. This is a powerful promise, one witnessed tonight by the stars themselves. Blaise, we heard most of what you had to say a few hours ago,” Lee Jordan said. “What else would you like to promise Dean?”

Blaise took a deep breath and his smile widened.

“My reasons for marrying you are completely selfish. On our first date, I told you I asked you out because of the way you looked at me. You see me in a way no one else can; you look at me like I am the calm in the centre of a storm, a safe-haven. I never want you to look at anyone else like that and I will never give you any reason to. I always thought I was meant to love and marry my best friend.”

Hermione glanced at Draco and saw his jaw twitch.

_Oh._

“We tried so hard to make it work, even though it felt like the universe itself was forcing us apart. It hurt when it ended and that pain haunted me for a long time. Then I walked into your life and being with you was so easy, so peaceful. Our second separation was my fault, and I own that. The first time we separated, you came back to me because you realized you deserve to be as happy as I can make you. This is me returning the favour, coming back for you and promising to spend the rest of my life making you just that happy.”

Dean stared at Blaise with his mouth hanging open and Hermione was in a similar boat. Ron’s proposal had been very modest, like they’d both expected it to come for a long time. Of course he would ask and of course she would say yes, because that was what everyone thought was right. She guessed Ron’s wedding vows would have been the same: typical, mundane, and nothing like what Blaise just told Dean.

_That’s what I want._

“Are you serious?!” Dean asked. “Did you just … How the hell did you come up with all that?”

Blaise shrugged and said, “What can I say? You left me because I couldn’t tell you how much I love you and now that I have you back I cannot seem to stop telling you.”

“Okay, okay, so I’ve been thinking about this for five hours now instead of the five weeks you had, but …” Dean kind of chuckled to himself and said, “I’ve got it.”

“Dean, what would you like to promise Blaise?” Lee Jordan asked. Dean took a deep breath and looked at Blaise before he continued.

“There is nothing in this world more important to me than my family. You saw that, and you accepted my decision to end our relationship to be with them. I think that you putting me first was what showed showed me that I deserve you. That’s why I came back and why when you asked me to marry you just now I had no hesitation. You are my family, Blaise Zabini. I have been dedicated to people who call me family by blood, by name … But you chose me without either and that means more than I can ever say.

“You love all of me, and I’m grateful I finally found someone willing to do that. I can’t promise to stay fit forever or to love everything you cook, because we both know that puntarelle stuff is rubbish even if you won’t admit it, and I am going to keep yelling at the telly during football matches. But it is a privilege to laugh with you, to watch Scorpius with you, and to build a family with you. That’s what you give me: a chance to have my own family and to do it right. I love you and promise to always love you.”

Blaise smiled up at Dean like he wanted nothing more out of life than to prove himself worthy of Dean’s love. Dean beamed down at Blaise like he wouldn’t be surprised if someone told him Blaise had painted the stars in the night sky. The starlight bounced off both their faces and Hermione had never seen anyone so much in love.

 _Is anyone ever going to look at_ me _that way?_

“Dean and Blaise, you have professed your love by exchanging vows, and if anyone here has any objection to these two being joined in this union, please speak now or forever hold your peace.” He paused for a half-second before saying, “Just joking, if you have objections go fuck yourself.”

Lady Malfoy yelped at the profanity but Ginny couldn’t suppress a giggle.

“Dean, do you take Blaise to be your husband; to live together in the covenant of marriage? Do you promise to be faithful to him and to this promise now written in the stars for as long as you both shall live?”

“I do,” Dean said confidently.

“Blaise, do you take Dean to be your husband; to live together in the covenant of marriage? Do you promise to be faithful to him and to this promise now written in the stars for as long as you both shall live?”

“I do,” Blaise said, trying to keep his voice even but unable to hide a huge grin.

The rope of starlight unwound itself from Dean and slithered down Blaise’s arm until the narrow beam of light wrapped around his ring finger. There was a flash of bright white light when the circle completed, leaving Blaise with a solid white ring.

Lee Jordan had a problem suppressing a smile as he said, “By the power vested in me I now pronounce you married, two Zabinis joined forever in magical matrimony. Now, Dean can get back to his favourite pastime: snogging Blaise.”

Blaise pulled Dean down by the collar of his dress robes and kissed him lightly. Very chaste for them, actually, and it was sweet. Dean pressed a kiss to Blaise’s cheek and pulled him into a hug.

“Merlin’s fucking arse, we’re married!” he realized aloud.

Hugs were given, congratulations bestowed, and they departed for the manor to have cake. Draco wrapped his arm around Hermione’s shoulders to keep her warm on the journey back. She caught Ginny raising an eyebrow at Romilda and considered backing away to keep from giving off the wrong impression, but Draco was too warm and comfortable.

The wedding cake was lovely, three-tiered, and delicious. Lee Jordan and Romilda would probably end up hate shagging later that evening. Ginny had to leave to give Harry some reprieve, having left him alone with the kids for over five hours. Narcissa discussed having Theo bring the twins over to the manor, and that left Draco and Hermione to themselves.

Hermione leaned against the parlor wall, three glasses of champagne taking their toll on her balance. Draco shrugged off his robe, careful not to spill his glass, and tossed it over the arm of the sofa. In a rush of champagne-fueled confidence, Hermione for some reason asked,

“Why aren’t you married?”

“Why aren’t you?” Draco shot back, suddenly defensive.

“You first,” Hermione demanded. Much to her surprise, Draco leaned against the wall next to her and obliged.

“Blaise and I believed we would work,” he said. “But it does not matter how much you love someone if they aren’t also what you need. People are fond of saying you should marry your best friend, but they do not tell you that you sort of lose your best friend in the process.”

“How do you mean?” Hermione asked.

“You know what it’s like,” he said, cagily. “Torture changes you. You trust less, you cling harder to the people you can trust. Voldemort made me sit through the pain until he was done with me; I was conditioned to just take it. There are still times when I shut down and Blaise does not know what to do when I go catatonic. He became frustrated because he couldn’t help me the way a lover should, and the same could be said of me for him. Going blank is how I survive. No one is capable of being what I would need in a spouse.”

“Well Blaise went about it the wrong way,” Hermione said with a little hiccup.

“What?” Draco asked, clearly not anticipating that response.

“Blaise went about it all wrong but I don’t blame him. Thinking you can overcome it, that you can pull someone out of their past is hopeless. There is no alleviating the pain. The only thing anyone can do is sit beside you so you know you will have someone to lean on.”

Draco took a deep breath and admitted, “I look to my future and I never see myself married. Harder now with Scorp in the picture.” He downed the glass of champagne, held it up and said, “I’m out.”

Blaise and Dean walked by on their way to the Floo. So in love, so happy they didn’t even notice Hermione and Draco in the middle of a heated argument. They’d be shagging each other’s brains out in two minutes, so Hermione was not disappointed to see them depart. She had been sorely lacking in that department as of late. She nodded toward them and asked,

“Do you ever stop to realize we’ll never have that?”

Draco looked like he could hardly focus through the bubbly haze of champagne, and asked, “How do you mean?”

“That proposal and their vows were about happiness. The two of us don’t have the luxury of looking for partners like that because everyone looks at us a certain way. When people see you, they see the Dark Mark. When people look at me they see books, cleverness ... They see a villain and a hero. How can you find someone to see past that? Marriage for us is about finding someone to trust in the dark moments. Is there anyone out there who will be strong for me when my parents die or if Scorp gets sick? I can’t marry someone who expects me to have all the answers.”

Draco hummed low in his throat and turned his head to look at Hermione. Her heart rate sped up; he was close enough to kiss. Their faces were only a couple dozen centimetres apart, so Draco lowered his voice to a whisper.

“You need someone you trust to guide you through those dark moments so you don’t need to spend the rest of your life worrying about them. Then you can allow yourself to be happy.”

“Perhaps you are right,” Hermione agreed, words catching in her throat. “I just know I can’t marry someone who does not see every part of what I am.”

“Is that what happened with Weasley? He wanted you to be something else?” Draco guessed. Hermione glared at him and turned her cheek. It was just like him to ruin a moment.

“What happened between me and Ronald is none of your concern.”

“Fine then,” he said, disappointed. Draco pushed himself off the wall and left to rejoin the festivities. But before his exit, he turned back to say, “Just know I never expect you to have all the answers.”

_What the hell happened?_

How did Draco Malfoy become the better person? He was at his ex-lover’s impromptu wedding, happy for Blaise and acknowledging Dean was the right person for him. When Hermione had received the invitation to Ron’s wedding she tore it up and threw it in the rubbish bin.

Hermione wanted Draco to kiss her. Every denial, every remember-what-he-used-to-be was only effective at a distance. Just then, wrapped in the comfort of wedding giddiness and prodded by bubbly courage, she had done the unthinkable and allowed herself to fall for Malfoy. Why did he have to ruin it by bringing up Ron?

Hermione eventually made her way back to her bedroom, after getting lost because she took the far staircase to avoid running into Draco. She hung her coat in the closet, dressed in her nightclothes, and began taking the pins out of her hair. She stared at her reflection and thought,

_Draco Malfoy feels right, but what does that say about me? If people look at him and see what they want to see, why do I look at him and feel safe? How can I look at him and feel at home in this place where I should be afraid?_

She couldn’t force away the sight of Draco, like it had been cut into her memory. Draco’s lips centimetres from her own, his cocky smile, and those grey eyes that sparkled with entitlement. Hermione squished her eyes closed and slammed her face into the pillows, but sleep wouldn’t come. She went stone-still when she heard Draco’s door open then close shut, separated only by the small confines of Scorp’s nursery. She didn’t need to see Draco to know he was unbuttoning his clothes, because she heard piece after piece of fabric hit the floor. She listened to Draco’s feet pad over to his closet as he pulled on his pajamas.

Hermione let out a soft sigh of relief once Draco’s movements ceased. She was free to sleep, if only it would come …

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theo is married to Tracey Davis.


	14. Panic! at the Manor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it takes a blast from the past in order to move forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super special shoutout and hugs for my beta, Susanna, for helping with this chapter! Also, JusticeForYadi who agreed to read it ahead of time because that's what little sisters are for. (Thanks, bro.) Her reaction was, "Okay, but why haven't you written chapter fifteen yet?"
> 
> September 18th, 2018: Minor changes made to the chapter text to improve narrative flow.

Ron Weasley was not a bad person. He had a good heart, and when he smiled people had the sudden urge to do the same. When Ron was down on one knee offering up a ring, that smile was one of the reasons Hermione said yes. And it seemed every Weasley along with half their Hogwarts class was in attendance. Ron didn’t leave Hermione much of a choice.

It was May 14th, 2003, and there was no pretense to Ron’s proposal. Hermione walked into the restaurant, saw who was there, and immediately recognized what was to come. She blinked and suddenly Ron was down on one knee with a ring and “I love you, will you marry me?” Nothing else, just love and a ring. Hermione shoved the instinctive “Is that all?” back down her throat, forced a smile, and said, “Yes.”

They had Harry and Ginny over for dinner two weeks later, which had become a weekly thing. A routine, just like everything in their life. Hermione had knives slicing up peppers while Ron set the table. He offered to help, Hermione declined, and he made some fond remark about how stubborn she was. Hermione offered him her cheek in response, which he kissed lightly as was their custom. As was their routine.

“Didn’t you wear that dress for dinner last week?” Ron asked. Hermione looked down and shrugged.

“I suppose I did. I just grabbed something once I chucked my Healer robe. Wednesdays are a busy day, I don’t understand why we can’t have these on Fridays.”

“Because Gin has matches on Fridays and maybe you should pay a bit more attention, make more of an effort.”

Hermione looked at him skeptically, the knives paused behind her in midair.

“Do you really think Harry is going to remember I wore this dress last week?”

“I meant for me, ‘Mione,” Ron sighed. “Make an effort for me.”

“Oh,” she said. That was all she could say before she returned her attention to the peppers. Hermione found time to change into another dress. Ron smiled at her appreciatively before opening the door as their guests arrived. Harry kissed her cheek and gave her a warm hug. Ginny gave Hermione a light hug and walked to the table like this place was just as familiar as her own home.

“I was offered a job yesterday,” Hermione revealed during the meal. “Healer-in-Charge of the Maeve Ward!”

“That’s great! I’m so happy for you, Hermione, you deserve this.” Ginny said.

“Knew you’d get there, ‘Mione,” Harry said through a mouthful of potatoes. “You’ll have a vaccine for Dragon Pox in no time.”

Ron was curiously silent. He picked at his food too forcefully with his fork, and Hermione felt tension coming off him in waves.

“And you already accepted?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“Of course,” Hermione smiled. “It’s shorter hours and my dream job at St. Mungo’s. Chief Healer Battlehunt could hardly get the words out before I said yes!”

“And you didn’t consider talking to me about it first?” Ron insisted. The smile instantly fell from Hermione’s face.

_Well, no. It’s my job, my decision, my life. Outside of Minister for Magic, this is what I want to do._

But instead Hermione said, “Perhaps I should have.”

“Yes,” Ron insisted, “we’re engaged now and you should have.”

Everyone at the table shifted awkwardly in their chairs and Ron refused to meet Hermione’s gaze. Harry shot Ginny a worried look, and then a nod which she took as a cue to make her own announcement.

“While you’re getting a promotion, a well-earned one, I am sitting out the rest of the season with the Harpies,” she revealed. Ron looked at her like she’d just grown two heads.

“Bloody hell! Why would you do that?! This is your dream job, Gin. What could possibly—“

“I’m pregnant,” she said with a huge smile.

Hermione would never admit it, but for a half-second she was overcome with sadness. Not for Ginny, but for herself. If Harry and Ginny started a family it would be expected of her, too. And soon. When Hermione told her mother that Ron proposed, Mrs. Granger immediately began spouting nonsense about ginger-haired grandchildren. Hermione just wanted her family to recognize her desire to make the world a better place and no one seemed to be there to do that.

She shook it off and stood to hug her best friend.

“Congratulations! I am so happy for you!” she said with the usual, “How far along are you?” and “Is it a boy or a girl?” Hermione was well-practiced because everyone was giving family life a try. Neville and Hannah had a baby, Fred and Angelina had Roxanne a couple months earlier, and Percy’s daughter was due any day.

Harry looked at Ginny like he hadn’t known he could be more in love with her until that moment. He was so proud that this destiny wasn’t prophesized for him. Proud that Ginny chose him because she saw grace in his flaws and goodness in his heart. Ron continued bestowing congratulations, oblivious to the turmoil inside Hermione’s head. After they left, Ron turned to her with a worn smile.

“I’ll clean up and you get the tea?”

He asked like he didn’t know the answer, even though she always made the tea and he always cleaned the dishes. For once, Hermione didn’t feel like returning his smile. She went to the cupboard and when Ron returned he was surprised to see two shot glasses and a bottle of Firewhisky. He walked around the table and gently kissed Hermione on the forehead.

“What’s bothering you?” he asked.

_You. This. Babies._

“Why did you ask me to marry you?” Hermione asked, pouring the first shots. She took hers in one go as Ron replied.

“Because I love you, and that’s what people in love do. They get married.”

Hermione wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and poured another.

“No, Ronald, it isn’t,” she said. Another shot burned down her throat, but she had a feeling it was much less painful than what she was about to do.

“Yes it is,” Ron insisted, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Look at Harry and Gin! They love each other, they got married, and they’re happy! So what is this really about?”

“It’s about that!” Hermione shouted. “Harry falls more in love with Ginny every day. They grow together and that’s why they work, but what about us? Are you ever going to love me more than you do right now?” she pressed.

Ron downed his glass.

“Well, I suppose, I …” he trailed off and Hermione took two more shots before Ron grabbed the bottle.

“Enough!” he shouted. “I understand you’re upset about this, but I thought we’d been together long enough that you would be okay getting married to me. And yes, before making career decisions you should talk to me about them because that’s what couples do!”

“When you look at our future, what do you see?” Hermione asked.

“Well, I see us like Harry and Gin. A few kids, I’ve finally worked my way up to Director of British Quidditch HQ, and you have some sort of job you like that doesn’t require as many hours as Healing.”

Hermione’s mouth fell open in shock.

“So you get to climb the ladder and I’m stuck doing paperwork at the Ministry?”

“I dunno, Hermione!” Ron insisted. “I dunno what you want to do, what you want from me—“

“Well aren’t those things you should know before you propose to someone?!” Hermione shouted.

“Aren’t those things you should know before you say yes to a proposal?!” Ron countered.

Hermione pointed a finger at him and said, “You knew I wouldn’t say no if there were thirty people around. I would never embarrass you like that.”

“So you only said yes because everyone was there?” Ron asked, hurt. “Not because you love me?”

“Of course I love you!” Hermione said. “I just don’t want to be caught up in the momentum of it all. The constant swinging of the pendulum, this unbearable routine, all because this is what people expected of us. Of me! This doesn’t make me happy, Ronald!” Hermione ended with a hiccup.

Ron took a step backward like Hermione had punched him.

“I don’t make you happy?” he asked, heartsick. The shock and anguish so blatant in his voice it was almost unbearable to hear. Hermione expected him to be angry and confused, but not this. She never wanted to hurt him like this.

“You make me … complacent,” Hermione admitted. “I am comfortable around you and I trust you with my life, you know that. But I want to help people. I want to heal people, fight for the rights of magical creatures, and become Minister for Magic. That’s what will make me happy and you aren’t prepared to let me do that.”

Ron took both of Hermione’s hands. He stared into her eyes as though he could parse out the right thing to say if he looked long enough.

“It’d be hard, but we could make it work, ‘Mione, I swear we could.”

“Don’t you want to be excited in marriage, Ron?” Hermione pleaded with him. She balled the front of his shirt up and asked, “Or do you want the same life we have right now? Because if that’s what you want, it’s not a bad thing. That is the sort of thing that can make you happy, you just have to understand I can’t give it to you.”

“So now I don’t ‘excite’ you?” Ron asked in disbelief.

“Not that sort of excitement!” Hermione groaned at his carnal implication. “More like … I just don’t think our futures fit together like the present does.”

“Hermione,” Ron begged, “please tell me what to say to make this better. I don’t want to fight with you, I want to marry you because I love you. So just tell me what you need hear and I’ll say it.”

“Are you ever going to look at me the way Harry looked at Ginny tonight?” she asked.

“I don’t know how he looked at Ginny!” Ron exclaimed. “I don’t understand what you want from me.”

“Then that is the problem and there is nothing you can say.”

Hermione pulled the engagement ring off her finger and laid it on the table. She had never thought of heartbreak as a literal thing, but there was despair embedded in the lines of Ron’s face. Hermione took one long swig from the bottle of Firewhiskey and headed for the door. Ron caught her hand as she passed by and turned Hermione so she could look at him again.

“I always knew you were too good for me, but I thought … I thought maybe you saw something in me that I didn’t see in myself.” Hermione pitied him for the watery buildup in the corners of his eyes. “Are you … Are you sure there is nothing I can do to convince you to stay?”

Hermione couldn’t breathe. Maybe if Ron understood her desire for romance and the thrill of the freefall that accompanies it … Then she would have stayed. But Ron was always at least one step behind her.

“Yes, I am sure. Good-bye, Ron.”

Their whole house seemed to be leaning in, crushing her, begging Hermione to stay. The gravity of their routine had become so heavy that Hermione could barely lift her feet, could only just pry her fingers from Ron’s. The walk to the door was agonizing, but she made her way out because the only thing more powerful than gravity is ambition.

**.oOo.**

Hermione was acutely aware of the top sheet against her skin, soft and warm beneath the duvet as she woke up. Nothing in this house was hers, not really, it was all Malfoy right down to her son. The terror of Malfoy Manor suddenly came rushing back as Hermione felt the tug of that life she never really wanted.

She felt her back against the floor, shirt so damp with sweat that it stuck to her chest. Air rattled its way down her throat and almost immediately back up again as she let out cry after anguished cry. A new jolt of pain coursed through her body with every shouted _Crucio!_

But this time was different. This time she could run.

Hermione needed air and her feet were on the floor before she’d even opened her eyes. She knew her way out; it was the one thing Hermione had been quick to learn about the manor. Hermione didn’t know how long it took to run out the door to the gardens, or whom she might have woken along the way. None of it mattered because she just wanted out.

She collapsed on the steps, placed her head between her knees, and wrapped her hands around her shins. _Defense._ Panic recovery step one: close your eyes. Step two: breathe. (Step two was the hardest for Hermione; it always was. She couldn’t get that first breath down and hold it.) Her ribcage was fit to burst at any moment as she shivered from the mid-November cold. Step three: count the heartbeats. One-ten per minute. Ninety the next. Eighty the next. Step four: open your eyes.

Just as Hermione forced her eyes apart to catch the sunrise, there was a loud Pop! next to her. She yelped, screamed “Please stop!” and buried her head again.

_Start again. Step one: close your eyes._

“Is Miss Minnie okay?” a house-elf asked. Hermione knew it was Tippy, but it didn’t matter. She couldn’t get words out just then, let alone a lie.

“Does Miss Minnie need help? Does Miss Minnie need a water or a blanket?”

Hermione couldn’t tell Tippy what she needed because Hermione didn’t know. There was another loud Crack! as Tippy Disapparated, and Hermione flashed back to what accompanied that sound: being Stunned by someone who had only just appeared. The cold-blooded terror of being half-dragged down the manor driveway. Bellatrix’s fingers scraping across her scalp. A small dagger nicking her throat. Hermione carded her fingers through her hair and pulled, crying, wanting nothing more than to make it stop.

_Step one: close your eyes._

“Hermione?!” someone shouted just a little too loudly, but she didn’t open her eyes. The door behind her opened then swung shut.

“Hermione?” the voice asked again. It was Draco, and she wanted him to go away. Leave her to the process because she could get through this alone like she always had. The temperature ticked up as Draco charmed a warming bubble around them.

“I am going to sit next to you and put my hand on your back.” Draco asked. Hermione couldn’t respond, but she felt his presence next to her on the steps. He pressed his palm to the centre of her back just as he said.

_Step two._

Hermione leaned into Draco’s side and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Breathing was hard, but the trick was to steady it by taking air in one way and exhaling through the other.

_In through the nose, out through the mouth._

Draco’s presence grounded her, and it only took three tries to keep her breath down. No more gasping for any available oxygen. She could breathe. Draco took her hand and said,

“Let me know when you’re ready.”

Hermione didn’t have the strength to nod or shake her head. Draco sat next to her, silent for a couple minutes as she took deep breaths and he drew little circles into her palm with his thumb.

_Step three._

He knew when she was ready without Hermione needing to say the words. Draco pressed her right hand hand to the centre of his chest and held it there. _Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum._ His heartbeat was steady and comforting as it thrummed beneath her fingertips. Hermione clutched at the cotton of his t-shirt with her left hand, her fingernails scraping his spine.

_Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum._

Draco’s heartbeat was calming, and it warmed her in a way his spell couldn’t. Hermione’s heartbeat slowed to match the pulse beneath her fingers.

_Step four._

Hermione opened her eyes to see the sun peeking over the horizon. Draco pulled her closer as Hermione let her hand fall from his chest. The gardens were beautiful. There were more types of trees and plants than she could name, and they came alive in turn as the sunlight crept over them. Draco and Hermione spent several minutes watching night turn to day.

“Astoria had them,” Draco said out of nowhere. “We all hurt in different ways, I suppose.”

Hermione made no acknowledgement she heard him.

 _“_ Did I set this off?” he asked.

Hermione shook her head slightly and Draco sighed in relief.

“I thought about what you said to me. When I was younger, I hated you because you were better than me and Muggle-born, two things which never squared with my worldview. You were supposed to be stupid and complacent, an abomination. Then you kept getting top marks and you never let me have the last word when I tried to beat you down. You fought for what was right, you saved my life, and you never let me or anyone else convince you that you didn’t belong in our world. So how the hell could I not like you? I hated that I liked you, but I did.”

_Oh._

“I was younger then, stupid, a bloody awful git. I am no longer ashamed to have feelings for you, Hermione.”

_Oh._

“I kept it from you because I like having you here like this. A couple of weeks together and I already feel like this can work, that we can raise Scorp together. I was never meant to have a traditional Malfoy family and you are certainly ... Unorthodox.”

Hermione giggled.

_An understatement._

“Me wanting to kiss you, me having this sort of emotional attachment to you should not come between us and I am afraid now that you know, you will want to keep your distance. I never wanted that to happen.”

Hermione, still too tired to do much of anything else, took Draco’s hand and twined their fingers together. She hoped he got the message.

“But I want you to know that I will always be here when you need me. Like this, or any other way.”

The sun had made its way well into the sky, illuminating the garden as far as Hermione could see.

“We are a team. I am here for you as you are here for me. Every time you tell me I can do something, I believe it. Not because I know it, but because you are so rarely wrong that I must take your word as truth. If being here like this is what you need from me, then it is what I will do. I owe you this much. ”

“Why do you say that?” Hermione finally found the words to ask. Scorpius would be up soon so they should be getting back, but she wanted to know.

Hermione let out a small groan of disappointment when Draco released his hold on her to stand. He padded down to the end of the steps and turned to face her, but Hermione suddenly found her fingernails very interesting.

“Look at me, Hermione,” he demanded.

Draco crossed his arms kind of defensively and said,

“I watched people die and did nothing to stop it. That is unforgivable and I was prepared to die in Azkaban for it. The Wizengamot wanted to sentence me for life and I did not wholly blame them, but they wanted to send me there as retribution for all the punishment my father avoided. To say, ‘If your parents force you into a war you wanted no part in, we will throw you in jail.’

“Potter testified because, when it counted, I could never be as truly evil as the people around me, but you spoke for me, too. I never believed you would; I thought you were there as the final nail in my coffin. Afterward, I suspected why you advocated for me and my mother confirmed it. Potter testified I should have my freedom because of the things I had done, but you looked at me and believed I should be free because of what I could do.”

_Oh._

“That means more to me than anything,” Draco admitted. “So I owe you everything. I came back from America and you are here taking care of my son and trusting me and do not think I overlook how much you blush when I get close to you. I did nothing to deserve this, but you can bet I will damn well do everything in my power to make you want to stay in my life. And Scorp’s life, but I am a bit selfish, you know. Old habits, as they say in America …”

Hermione stood up, too, three steps still not quite tall enough to see him eye-to-eye. She flung herself at Draco Malfoy in a most undignified fashion, wrapping him in a hug because she still didn’t have the words to say much of what she felt.

Draco hugged her back, wrapping both arms around her waist. Hermione was crying but she didn’t really know why. Gratitude, maybe? She needed someone and he was just … there. He knew what to do. Draco Malfoy was the last person Hermione expected to support her, and yet …

He said, “I think you should take some time away. It is a bit much, I understand. Leave the manor for a few days, go visit Potter or your parents. Scorp and I will be here when you feel prepared to come back. I want to make this a home for you, too.”

Hermione smiled into his shoulder.

“You did your best. I accept your apologies and I like you, too. Perhaps you can help me through dark moments and maybe I even want to be with you in the happy ones.”


	15. Chapter XV: Partners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione realizes she can't go back to her old life, and (finally) figures out what she wants to do instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of hugs and love to my beta, Susanna, who was a much-needed confidence boost! She has been so great and honest and helpful.
> 
> 9/29/18: Minor changes made to the text to improve narrative flow.

Hermione did not go to Harry’s.

She needed a time and place to think, to breathe, to sleep, so Hermione returned to her house in Queens Park. Thursday, Friday, and Saturday was a return to her old life: work then home. It felt as though Hermione had used a Time-Turner to return to a life that no longer belonged to her. Without Scorpius, without Draco and the rest of her new extended family Hermione Granger was lonely.

She met Harry for lunch on Saturday. They met at a hole-in-the-wall in Manchester, their favourite place because no one ever let slip they were there and the food was good. They nestled into a corner table, ordered, and Harry spent several minutes catching Hermione up on his family. Ginny had decided to retire from professional Quidditch and Al was probably mere days away from his first steps.

“Malfoy been treating you okay?” Harry asked, concerned.

“He’s been great,” Hermione said, “and we work well together. Really well. It’s embarrassing!”

And then words just came tumbling out.

“He loves his son, he cares for his son, and he thinks the world of me. He’s different now, like he has started to take responsibility for things. I feel like he might even be a good person! Have I gone mad?”

Harry sighed as their food arrived.

“Malfoy is the only person who carries the Dark Mark outside of Azkaban, and that has been hard for him. He was a mess five years ago when I came to him with a job offer. Not a mess, he was worse than that, he was inconsolable. Everything around him fell apart. He and Blaise broke up, then his best mate’s wife, Tracey, fell ill at the end of her pregnancy and Draco made the potions to keep her well until the birth of her twins. It was about that time I went to him with the offer, which he declined, then less than a month later his father died.”

“What am I supposed to say to that?” Hermione asked.

“I just want you to understand that Draco really did change of his own accord. I don’t like him at all, I think he’s an arrogant arse whose face is much too pointy. But ... if you were ... to ... erm, not feel that way? That would be understandable.”

Hermione let her head fall into her hands and she groaned.

“It feels wrong! I really like him, Harry. We disagree, but I like that. I like his stupid shiny hair and his smile and that he’s not such a bully anymore. Out of everyone in the world, knowing what I know now, if I had to pick a father for Scorp it would be Draco.”

“Great,” Harry shrugged. “I don’t see what the problem is.”

“The problem is he’s Draco Malfoy!” Hermione shouted, throwing her hands in the air.

“I think it’s only a problem because you see him the way you used to. So stop making it a problem,” Harry insisted.

“But—“

“And, Ron will kill me for saying so, but he does miss you. We all miss you at Christmases and birthdays ... You left him, after all, so why are you so afraid of coming back to us?”

“Because I still love him!” Hermione admitted. “And if I didn’t stay away we would have gone ‘round in circles forever. He’s happy now, with Alicia, right? She’s a good mum and they had a wedding that I’m sure was lovely without me hanging around.”

“I still don’t understand why you left,” Harry admitted. “Not that I blame you, you’re right, Ron is happy. But you aren’t, and I don’t like seeing you unhappy.”

“I left because we didn’t see the same future,” Hermione replied. “And that doesn’t mean I don’t love him and miss him, but this is the best way for him to move on and for me to do what I want to do. Healing people is what I have always wanted to do, even before I knew I was a witch. I wanted to be a doctor when I was little, now I’m a Healer and Ron wanted me to stop so we could have a family. That isn’t me! The only time I ever feel out of place is at Christmases and birthdays when you all have your families and I’m just ... alone. I’m alone because I haven’t found anyone to help balance work and the rest of my life.”

Harry sighed and mumbled something to himself. He took a few more bites of food before looking up at Hermione with tired eyes.

“Hermione, I love you, you are my best friend but I have had enough surprises to last the rest of my life. Is Malfoy the person who can do the balancing for you? Is he willing to let you keep bettering the world, curing Dragon Pox and Vampire Pixie bites? Because if he is, then what the hell is stopping you from asking him out?”

“I don’t know, Harry! Just that he used to be such a prick and how the hell can I see past that?”

Harry shrugged.

“I don’t like thinking about the past. It scares me to think what could have or should have been done. We were all manipulated by forces outside our control, even Malfoy. We were kids. And I don’t like Malfoy, I can’t say that enough, I don’t fucking like him, Hermione. But I also don’t blame him for what he did because he is doing better things now. The world after Voldemort wanted to ruin him and he didn’t allow it to happen. He’s making the right choices and I don’t think you should hold the past against him because it does nothing but make you tired.”

“You’re right,” Hermione admitted, “but that doesn’t make it any easier. What if I did like him and I asked him out and we fell apart? I live with him now. We have a son now! This is so far beyond normal I really don’t know what I should do.”

Harry snorted into his chips.

“I think normal ended when you were about twelve. You might remember, bathroom, Mountain Troll, near-death experience ... Trust me, I was there,” Harry teased. Hermione threw a chip at him.

“I know you’re right. He just knows how to get to me in good ways and bad ways. I spent most of my life seeing the bad, but he’s been ... very good the past couple weeks.” Hermione blushed.

“I’ll Obliviate myself if I have to hear about you and Malfoy shagging,” Harry insisted.

“What, don’t you want to know if his hair is that bright _everywhere_?” Hermione teased and Harry mimed gagging into his food.

**.oOo.**

Hermione planned to return to Malfoy Manor on Monday. She made the decision Sunday morning, staring at the _Daily Prophet_. It wasn’t the headlines or photos that prompted the decision. It was the fact that she was reading it at her table alone. She missed Scorpius dearly and her thoughts wandered to Draco more than she cared to admit. Hell, she even missed Narcissa Malfoy’s snide comments about going to work.

She yelped at a loud knock on her door. She ignored it at first, assuming it was one of the neighbors. She continued to scan the front page, but the knocks never let up. They were surprisingly persistent for a Sunday morning.

_Probably one of the neighbors wondering where I got off to._

Hermione opened the door to reveal her mother, her father, her son, and one unhappy Draco Malfoy. Scorpius was sniffling like he’d spent awhile crying. Hermione glanced at the car in her driveway and started to put the pieces together. She raised an eyebrow and said,

“Hello?”

“Hi, honey!” Mr. Granger said. Draco kept glaring at Hermione over her father’s shoulder as Mrs. Granger said,

“Sundays are still our day! Draco, here, was quite flummoxed when he couldn’t find where you’d gotten off to. We thought to bring him straight here because, well, we didn’t know you left Malfoy Manor. And if I may say, we are quite unhappy about you leaving Scorpius, and would like to know what exactly went wrong with Draco here--”

“Mum!” Hermione shouted. “I just needed to take some time for myself, that’s all. I’m not ... I’m not _leaving_ them for Merlin’s sake!”

“Oh? Oh! Well that’s a delightful thing to hear. Though I did mention to Draco that he’d at least lasted longer than your engagement to Ronald--”

“Mum!” Hermione shouted again. She looked around to see that some of her neighbors had decided it was a good time for a bit of gardening in the front yard. “If you would please, come inside so we can discuss this in private?”

“Oh, no, honey,” Mr. Granger shook his head. “We were just going to take Scorp out for a stroll in the park. Long car ride, we certainly need to stretch our legs, don’t we, Abby?”

“What?” Mrs. Granger sputtered.

“Hermione, you and Mister, excuse me, Lord Malfoy can discuss things you need to discuss, and your mother and I will save our meddling for another day.”

As Mrs. Granger took Scorpius from Draco, she mumbled to Hermione’s father about how “they just need a push, dear.” Mr. Granger politely reminded his wife that their daughter was not yet dating Draco Malfoy, and by that point Hermione felt herself blushing all the way to her toes. Draco turned to smile at them before Hermione invited him inside.

Draco shut the door and when he turned to face her, the smile had been replaced by the trademark sneer she’d grown accustomed to over a decade of snide remarks. This was familiar territory for them and Hermione reveled in it. Except, beneath Draco’s hardened expression there was something that looked like disappointment.

“I thought after three days without Scorpius you might want to see him outside the manor, so I popped ‘round to Potter’s house. Imagine my surprise when he told me you had not set foot there since you left and suggested I check your parents’ place. I Apparated over there as any competent wizard would do, and your mother nearly took my head off with a pair of garden shears. Then she said you had not been to visit. Quite perplexed, thinking you’d finally come to your senses and run far away from me and the trouble ever-present at my side, I asked your parents where exactly you might be. So I just spent a half hour in that bloody Muggle contraption with a crying infant because Scorpius is the only person on this planet who hates cars more than I do!”

“Well,” Hermione sighed, “this is my house.”

“A house you never mentioned to me.” Draco said this with an accusatory tone Hermione didn’t much care for. “Because I seem to recall you yelling at me for a similar offense just last week when I left Scorpius in undeniably capable hands. Whereas you have seemingly abandoned us entirely! Tad hypocritical even for you, Granger.”

“This house was supposed to be a safe haven for me, away from all the nonsense of the past month,” Hermione admitted.

“Ah,” Draco clacked his tongue against his teeth. “A safe haven. This is where you were planning to take Scorpius were you to run from me. I see. Smart, Granger, though you know I would have found you.”

“Assuming you would have wanted to find us,” Hermione shot back. She knew it was wrong, knew Draco cared for his son, but it was satisfying to hit him where she knew it hurt. And it worked, because Draco lost his calm veneer and started shouting so loudly Hermione was afraid the neighbors might overhear.

“Really, Granger?! After all I have done since I came home, you really believe I would not come looking for my son? My son! Who, whatever you may like to fancy yourself, is more my child than yours!”

And, alright, that hurt. More than a little. Something deep in Hermione’s gut told her he didn’t mean it, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to care.

“That is not true, Malfoy!” Hermione shot back. “That boy is my son! I cared for him, loved him, changed his damn nappies and even moved into his rightful home to make sure he has the best life we can give him. I did that all without regard for how it would affect me and you best believe that makes me his mother. You think three days without me makes you a father? You think two weeks in his life makes you a father?!”

“I think my blood makes me his father, Granger!”

“That’s right, because blood is all you know about family, isn’t it?!” Hermione snapped. And oh, Merlin, did she ever wish she could take that back.

_Will there ever be a time when I can think about what I say to Draco before I say it?_

There were small moments when Draco Malfoy looked older than he should. When he dropped the veneer, dropped his shoulders and clenched his jaw. He hung his head and started cracking his knuckles. All of him seemed to cave in a bit, like the world wanted to beat him into submission and Draco was inclined, for a moment, to let it.

“So this is what you really think of me, Granger? I’m glad to know. I nearly made the mistake of believing you could see through our past, and yet here you are.” Draco was shaking and Hermione didn’t know why but she reached out to steady him. Draco jerked his shoulder out of her grip and it stung a bit; he’d never shied away from that touch before. Hermione let her hand fall back to her side.

“I thought maybe you actually wanted to see me for the person I am trying to become, the father I am trying to be. How fucking naive was I?” Draco asked, seemingly more to himself than Hermione.

She couldn’t help it, she laughed. Hermione giggled and smiled shyly down at the floor. Draco raised an annoyed eyebrow and asked,

“What?” in a harsh tone.

“It’s just that I do, and I don’t know why I said those things. You bring out this crazy, primal instinctive side of me that I can’t shut up! I’m tired of fighting. Fighting to prove I belong, fighting my feelings for Ron, and to prove I am valid as Scorp’s mother. I don’t want to do it anymore. But I love fighting with you, Malfoy, I love it. It sort of turns me on, actually, which is really weird but fighting with you comes as easily as breathing because I’ve been doing it for so long. But I don’t want to fight my feelings for you.”

Draco took a stunned step back and asked, “What?!” Hermione blushed.

“I’ve been thinking this whole time about how mad it is that I have fallen for you, my enemy. But you’re not that anymore, are you? I kept fighting the idea, but then Harry set me straight. Maybe this is all too much because I haven’t had a good shag in ten months and you’re all ... You know ... distracting.” Hermione trailed off. Draco suddenly had a very cocky smile.

“Please, Granger, tell me about how you think of me when you want good sex. You have my undivided attention,” Draco teased.

“Yes, I like you,” Hermione admitted. Damn, it felt good to let that out. And Draco just stood back, basking in the glory of Hermione’s admission that he was attractive. (If Malfoy got any cockier he’d die of testosterone poisoning.) She continued,

“I have seen the absolute worst of you and now I’m starting to see the best. So is it really all that wrong? How long should I wait before I allow myself to fall for you?”

Draco looked at Hermione, confused.

“Then what the hell are we doing?!” Draco asked, exasperated. “I know where I stand, but I am unclear about where you are in this.”

_You and me both._

When Hermione didn’t answer for several moments, Draco rephrased the question.

“What do you want me to be to you?”

_Isn’t that the one thing I’ve been unable to answer over the past two weeks? This isn’t normal. Quite outrageous, actually, but hasn’t he done everything I would have wanted any man to do? He atoned for his mistakes, risked his life to ensure dark magic didn’t fall into the wrong hands, and accepted responsibility for a child he didn’t even know he had. If he wasn’t Draco Malfoy and I wasn’t Hermione Granger we would be together, wouldn’t we? But he is and I am, so it’s a bit more complex._

“My partner,” Hermione said. “I want you to be my partner.”

Draco took a hesitant step toward Hermione and said, “That is a strange choice. Most people, I believe, would use the word ‘boyfriend.’”

_Oh, Merlin, he’s doing that thing again. He knows what happens when he gets close to me. This is definitely not playing fair. But he’s a Malfoy, so why did I expect otherwise?_

“B-backwards,” Hermione stuttered. “We’re doing all of this backwards. Having a kid, then moving in, then having this discussion? I don’t know what I want and it just sounded like a good word. ‘Boyfriend’ sounds trivial. It’s not _enough_ of a word for what I need you to be.”

Draco hummed low in his throat and took another step closer so they were less than an arm’s length apart.

“What responsibilities do I have as your partner, then?”

“Taking care of Scorp, obviously,” Hermione said, working to keep her voice from wavering. He was so close, and if she stood on her toes she might just be able to kiss him. “Discussing things with me, you have to tell me when things get bad, you have to be honest with me about whatever suspicious things you have going on. Don’t lie to me, Draco Malfoy, I’ve known you long enough to know there are things you haven’t told me.”

“I never took you for a fool, Granger,” Draco said with a sly smile. “Say I was to tell you my secrets, then. As your partner, what would I get in return?”

“What do you want?” she asked.

Hermione looked up at him and waited. When Draco moved closer, Hermione’s heart raced. She held her breath, impatient, she’d been waiting for _days_. He was taking his damn time about it, too, enjoying Hermione’s impatience a bit too much. Just as he leaned in for a kiss, Hermione’s front door burst open.

“Hermione, do you have a spare nappy, Scorpius has just--oh!” Mrs. Granger gasped, frozen in the doorframe. Draco closed his eyes for a moment and his mouth formed a wan smile before he sighed.

“Another time, then.”

_No!_

“No!” Mrs. Granger insisted. “I know where the nappies are,” she said as she walked toward the stairs. “You two continue whatever I walked in on, and you won’t even know I am here.”

But the moment was lost. Mrs. Granger made her way upstairs, then back down, and Hermione stared at her feet before pressing her forehead into Draco’s chest. He laughed as Mrs. Granger nearly ran out the door. He placed a hand on the nape of Hermione’s neck and she wondered why they were so comfortable with each other. How could Draco Malfoy’s embrace be so calming?

“Your mother is persistent,” he said.

“Yeah, Mum and her shitty timing,” Hermione groaned.

“I think she and my mother are conspiring to get us to spend more time together. The manor is quite lonely without you,” Draco admitted. “Scorpius is very quiet and Mother is busy planning my return celebration. With Blaise otherwise engaged and Theo busy, it feels empty.”

Hermione hummed, pleased to know Draco missed her. He tentatively placed a hand on her neck and leaned down to press his lips to her cheek.

“Come home, Hermione.”                                                               


	16. Interview With a Malfoy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malfoy family time then Draco puts on his big boy pants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hugs to Susanna for beta-ing this chapter!
> 
> 11/17/2018: Minor changes made to the chapter text to improve narrative flow.

Hermione went straight to Malfoy Manor after work on Monday because she desperately needed to see her son. Neon green Healer robes flared out behind her as she ran from the Floo, room to room until she found Lady Narcissa in her study, putting the finishing touches on party invitations.

“Where is he?” Hermione asked. She was referring to Scorpius, but damn if she wasn’t just as anxious to see Draco.

Narcissa glanced up and said, “Welcome back, Miss Granger. In this house, we greet each other upon return, a habit you would do well to pick up,” she said. She kept an even tone but her face hid none of her disapproval. Hermione did not believe she would ever truly please Lady Malfoy.

“To answer your question, I believe it is play time in Draco’s study.”

Hermione bolted toward the door but Narcissa called her back with a command that carried enough weight to make Hermione stop dead in her path. She turned around and anxiously tapped her fingers against her thigh.

“Miss Vane stopped by yesterday with your outfit for Wednesday evening. Blaise and Dean visited as well to let us know they will be finished enjoying marital bliss by the time they are required to host.” Narcissa began stuffing invitations into envelopes. “Your mother said you and Draco looked quite comfortable yesterday.”

“Sorry, what?” Hermione sputtered out.

“It is none of my business what you and Draco do in that regard,” Lady Malfoy conceded. “Though, Abigail believes you two are progressing at a glacial pace and I am inclined to agree.” Before Hermione could respond, Lady Malfoy said, “I do like you, Miss Granger. My son has been through too much hardship in his life and I wish to see him happy. Draco will not survive another heartbreak and it would serve you well to remember that.”

Lady Malfoy returned her attention to the invitations piling up on her desk and waved Hermione away. Hermione couldn’t shake the feeling that Lady Malfoy had only said half of what she wanted to say.

When she entered the study, Draco was lying on the floor watching Scorpius try to catch one of the toy blocks levitating in front of him. Hermione stood in the doorway for a moment, studying Draco’s fond expression. He leaned on his arm, head balanced on his right fist, wand spinning lazily between the fingers of his left hand. He chuckled as Scorpius frowned at the moving squares. Scorp reached out for one with his tiny fingers only to meet empty air.

_So this is what I’ve been missing._

Hermione walked over to Scorpius and scooped him off the ground. She hugged him and pressed butterfly kisses to his cheek.

“I missed you!” she said. Scorpius smiled and clapped his hands.

_I missed you so, so much._

“I see Scorp is hoarding your kisses,” Draco quipped, not moving from his spot on the floor.

“Jealous, are you?” Hermione teased. Scorpius reached downward, anxious to get back to the disappearing blocks. Hermione put him down and Draco said,

“I would be if I wasn’t so distracted by that robe of yours. Are you trying to blind your patients?”

Hermione rolled her eyes and quipped, “It almost glows as much as your hair.” Draco laughed and shyly looked back at Scorpius.

“I am happy you returned,” he admitted.

“I could hardly stand being away from Scorp for so long,” Hermione replied. She shucked her robe and threw it overtop one of Draco’s chairs before sitting next to him on the floor.

“And is that all?” he asked.

“Well there is something else,” Hermione teased.

“The library!” Draco guessed, though Hermione could tell he knew that wasn’t it. “You haven’t read all our books and you would never pass up such an opportunity.”

“That’s true,” Hermione admitted. “I was going to say I missed you, but it really was your library.”

Draco sat up and grabbed a block to playfully throw at Hermione. It landed in her lap and she handed it to Scorpius who was more than happy to accept a team win.

“He can sit up on his own now,” she observed aloud.

“Only for a bit before he falls over. And Scorp tends to fall forward for some reason, always that he is reaching for something, plops right over himself and lands on his face,” Draco said.

“I did miss you,” Hermione admitted. Her face was hot and she picked up another block to fiddle with. She felt Draco’s gaze roam over her, trying to discern what was lying beneath those words. Hermione’s biggest weakness had always been curiosity, and her inability to resist that temptation was why she leaned forward to kiss Draco Malfoy.

There was a brief moment where Hermione considered pulling back, looking away, and pretending like it never happened. A moment of _Ew, God, it’s Draco Malfoy!_ followed immediately by, _Oh, his lips are really soft._ Draco’s hand was on the back of her neck, pulling her closer. It was kind of lazy, like they had all the time in the world and they’d been kissing each other for an age. Draco ran his tongue along the seam of Hermione’s lips and they parted slightly to let him in. In an instant, they went from chaste, lazy kisses to something that may necessitate a locked door.

Draco Malfoy kissed with all the excitement of a thirteen-year-old walking into Honeydukes for the first time. He wanted to taste and touch everything while lamenting that there was only so much he could take in at once. Hermione pulled back to breathe and said,

“I missed the gardens, the food, and—“

She didn’t get to breathe for long. Draco pulled her closer and Hermione smiled as their lips met again. She wrapped her arms around his waist and laughed as he started trailing kisses down her neck.

“I missed getting lost in the hallways because they all look the same—“

“They do not,” Draco insisted.

“And the mattress—“

“You should try mine,” he said rather simply. Any witty retort got lost on Hermione’s tongue because that actually sounded nice. Then he was kissing her again and his fingers were tangled in her hair and she wasn’t thinking much of anything at all until a block slammed into her kneecap.

“Ow!” Hermione hissed, pulling away from Draco to give the toy back to Scorpius, who had accidentally thrown it away.

Draco rolled his eyes and grabbed Scorp’s waist to stand him on his feet. He wobbled back and forth as Draco gave him a teasing rebuke.

“No more interrupting my kisses with your mother; it is rude. That is twice in as many days. Tell me, son, are you conspiring with Mrs. Granger to keep me from kissing Hermione?” Scorp blew him a smiley little raspberry in response and Draco scooped Scorp into his arms. He giggled as Draco tickled his stomach. “I knew it! Granger, what are we to do with this traitor baby?” Draco asked.

Hermione pretended to ponder it for a moment before responding.

“Well, interrupting a kiss, that’s a serious crime. Treasonous. I say we give him thirty to forty-five minutes behind bars, what do you think?”

Draco nodded, stood up, and together they walked across the hall from his study to Scorp’s nursery. Hermione cast a spell on the mobile to keep it rotating while Draco laid Scorpius down in the crib. Scorp was asleep a minute later and Hermione grazed his cheek with her fingertips. He looked peaceful. After having been away from him for a few days it was easier to see how much he’d grown. The fuzz on Scorp’s head was brighter and thicker than it had been weeks earlier. He was longer, a bit fatter, and he smiled more. That was the best thing about being in Malfoy Manor: impossible as it seemed, it felt like Scorp knew he was home.

**.oOo.**

“I do not want to do this,” Draco said, like Hermione hadn’t heard it once an hour for the past two days.

They stepped out of the Floo and into Blaise’s apartment. It looked exactly the same, save for the framed painting of Dean and Blaise hanging on the living room wall. Almost like it was painted from a memory, the luminescent colours swirled together to give it a dreamlike glow. Smiling at each other, arms bound by starlight, it was hard to believe that one week prior they hadn’t even been on speaking terms.

Dean took their coats and did a double take when he saw Hermione’s outfit. His eyes went wide and Hermione, flush with embarrassment, placed her hands on her hips.

“What?!” she demanded.

“You just look really good,” Dean shrugged, appraising her from head to toe. Draco grit his teeth and said,

“You’re a married man now, for Merlin’s sake! Stop ogling!”

“Not ogling, Malfoy, just appreciating.”

“It’s just a dress!” Hermione whined.

“Not the dress,” Dean and Draco said practically in unison. Hermione really liked the dress. It was royal blue, long-sleeved, tapered under the bust and at the waist. It fell halfway down her thighs and had a white collar fastened with a gold brooch on loan from the Malfoy family collection.

_(Lady Malfoy took ages to decide which one I should wear. “Oh, should it be this one, gifted to the Malfoys eight generations ago by Marie Antoinette? Or this one, perhaps? Nine generations ago one the Blacks pilfered it off the man with the first known case of Dragon Pox!” Why are Purebloods so obsessed with themselves?)_

Hermione fought Romilda on the boots. They came up over her knees and felt ridiculous! The boots had three-inch heels and she felt liable to topple over at any moment. Although, they did seem to render men momentarily speechless.

“You aren’t only representing yourself here, Hermione,” Romilda had said. “You are representing the Malfoys and, more importantly, me! What you want to wear is fine for everyday at St. Mungo’s and being ‘round the manor. It isn’t fine for being on the arm of the wealthiest man in the damn country for the first personal interview he’s given since the war!”

There was no rebuttal to that so Hermione wore the slutty boots. Blaise actually dropped the wine glasses he was holding when he saw her.

“Merlin’s bollocks!” he exclaimed. “Hermione, you look amazing! Hell, Romi outdid herself. How has Draco managed to keep his hands off you?”

“Not for lack of trying,” Draco mumbled in reply. Hermione swatted his arm and thanked Blaise for the compliment.

There was a knock at the door as Blaise magicked away the broken glass on the floor. He laughed as Dean smacked his arse on the way to the coat closet. Hermione could almost hear Draco’s eyes rolling.

“We can still tell her no,” he whispered. “Another time, or perhaps even never?”

Blaise opened the door to welcome Parvati into his home. They shook hands rather awkwardly before she caught sight of Dean. Her eyes widened in delight and she grabbed him in a hug.

“Merlin’s beard, what are you doing here?!” Parvati asked him. “I haven’t seen you in ages! You look fantastic, happy, actually. But Blaise said we’d be dining with Draco, Hermione, and his husband, so what are you doing here?”

Blaise rolled his eyes and once she realized her mistake, Parvati looked like she’d seen Professor Binns in his knickers.

“Oh! Oh, I’m so sorry, I just never thought ... But you know, it really is the most sensible thing in the world, isn’t it? Congratulations! Now where are my subjects?”

Draco went rigid next to Hermione. She turned to him and rested her palms against his chest.

“You can do this.” She grabbed his lapels and repeated, “We can do this.”

“Why, I am still unsure.” Draco took Hermione’s hands off his jacket. “But we can do this so let’s get it over with.”

He changed, then. Draco turned toward Parvati with a fake smile and hardened eyes. Blaise watched skeptically as Draco shook Parvati’s hand.

“Nicely done, reeling us into this,” he said. Parvati shrugged, noncommittal.

“I saw an opportunity. Hermione is my friend and you wouldn’t believe the things they were about to print.”

“Oh, I quite assure you I would,” Draco said. The Malfoys had a way of saying things like that. A perfectly muted response but the tone carried so much disdain, such contempt that the recipient might well melt into a puddle.

Then Parvati caught sight of Hermione.

“Merlin! Hermione, you look fantastic!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t think you owned anything other than cardigans and pantsuits!”

Hermione blushed.

“I have a stylist now. Romilda Vane. She, um, helps me shop for things that look good. A blessing, really, because I am rather lost otherwise.”

“I’ll say,” Parvati murmured. Once they were seated, Parvati pulled out a notepad and asked, “Do you mind if I use a Quick Quotes Quill?”

Hermione agreed and Draco was Stupefied-level rigid in the seat next to her. Dean and Blaise kept Parvati occupied for awhile, the meal passing in almost-pleasant reminiscing of their Hogwarts days and discussion of the wedding.

“The portrait you had done is lovely,” Hermione observed. “I’m impressed you had it done so quickly.”

“Courtesy of Luna,” Dean said. “We were trapped in the Malfoy cellar for awhile together. Developed a bit of a friendship in there, you know,” Dean awkwardly cleared his throat as Draco stared at his plate, sufficiently shamed. “She invented paint that looks like a hazy memory. Does all kinds of art for important wizards now, though she still goes on about Wrackspurts and other nonsense. Same Luna.”

“We had LJ bottle one of his memories of the wedding and send it to her,” Blaise added. “She painted it from what she saw in the Pensieve.  No one has ever used that technique before, and while I hate to admit it, it is an ingenious move. Lovegood is talented and she did this for us for free. I always knew she was loony, but she did it for free!” Blaise repeated, as though the price was somehow the most unbelievable part of the gift.

“I may discuss a commission with her,” Parvati murmured. “That is quite unique, isn’t it?”

Draco kept nervously eyeing the Quick Quotes Quill. He ran a hand through his hair and Hermione leaned over to whisper in his ear.

“What’s wrong?”

“I hate not knowing what it is writing,” Draco replied. Hermione nodded, but Parvati overheard. She chuckled and grabbed the notepad from where it floated behind her. She handed it to Hermione and said,

“Read it.”

Hermione looked at the page of hastily-scribbled words and raised her eyebrows in surprise. She never thought it was anything sinister, but Hermione thought it was like a Muggle tape recorder. Hermione realized she was very, very wrong as she read a bit aloud for the table to hear.

“Malfoy is most relaxed when he believes I am focused on his friends, like he is trying to hide a secret. It is pointless because I can read his deepest thoughts on his face. Lying was his father’s trait and it never suited Draco.”

Hermione chanced a glance at Draco and saw this only made him more defensive.

“Malfoy has a sad look on his face when Blaise and Dean speak about their wedding. It appears not that he maintains any romantic feelings toward Zabini, but that he has lost all hope of ever having that sort of love in his life. After watching him at dinner for twenty minutes, it is impossible to miss—“

_Oh, dear. That, well, this can’t be right._

Hermione passed the notebook back to Parvati who shook her head and demanded she read on. Draco had a white-knuckled grip on his fork. When Hermione refused to read any more, Parvati took over.

“... it is impossible to miss the way he looks at Hermione Granger. It’s hard to say what emotions lie behind that expression, but I would say Malfoy is surprised that Hermione has taken a liking to him. Draco wants desperately for Hermione to be the person for him the way Dean Thomas is for Blaise Zabini. I also assume he feels guilty about this, knowing that Hermione deserves to love someone without the stigma he lives with.”

Draco clenched his teeth and stared at his half-finished plate. Parvati replaced the notepad in the air behind her to continue recording.

“It’s here to keep track of my observations.”

“Your observations can go to hell!” Draco shouted.

“Touched a nerve?” Parvati shot back with a sardonic smile.

“What is with you people and the obsession with my life?!” Draco seethed. “Whether it’s Blaise or Hermione or anyone else, why should it matter who I am dating? People do not have the right to know that much about me!”

Hermione abruptly stood and demanded, “A word, Draco. Now.” Draco followed her to the far corner of the living room, well out of earshot. Hermione rounded on him, whisper-shouting,

“You aren’t telling her much of anything!”

“Because I do not want to tell her anything!” Draco insisted. “I thought I made that quite clear.”

“Then why are we doing this?!” Hermione asked. “If we are going to be clandestine about it we’ll end up looking suspicious.”

“People do not need to know about my life!” Draco insisted. “Especially reporters. Especially those god-awful termites masquerading as journalists at _Witch Weekly_ and _Wizards Quarterly_.”

“Why?” Hermione asked.

Draco grit his teeth and glanced over her shoulder at Parvati. He narrowed his eyes in disgust. He clearly did not want to answer the question, cracking his knuckles and Hermione’s fingers twitched with the need to grab his hand to make it stop.

“A reporter outed me to my father,” he revealed.

Hermione sighed, chastened. She never considered he would have a legitimate reason to distrust Parvati. Hermione wanted to grab Draco’s shoulders and shake him until she knocked loose whatever misconception he had about Parvati’s intent. She also wanted to hug him and apologize for how the world continued to scapegoat him.

“Parvati isn’t like that. She wants an airtight story that will put her byline on the biggest _WW_ cover in decades.”

“You don’t get it, Hermione!” Draco shouted, no longer bothering to keep his voice down. “I am willing to do everything it takes to allow you to be what you want to be. I will take care of Scorp, I will mold my life to fit around yours because I owe that to you. But I do not owe you this! I am not going to change the way I am around people just to make you happy!”

“I’m not asking you to!” Hermione insisted. “I just want the truth of what we’re doing to be out there! So people know I’m not whoring myself out for Pureblood validation and you aren’t using me as a live-in nanny. We agreed to try to make this work as a family so let’s tell the fucking world we are going to be a family! That is all I’m asking you to do!”

Draco shuddered, a shaky sigh before he let his face fall into his hands.

“God, Hermione, I’m so scared. This is all so new. A month ago I thought I was fighting Dark sympathizers in America and that was nothing compared to this.”

Hermione looked at him intently, trying to discern what “this” meant. Malfoy spoke to the press all the time about business, charity, and things he considered matters of substance. So perhaps it was exposing his personal life to tabloid gossip that had him so wound up. But Hermione thought it was something else. Perhaps the stress of being a new father was getting to him. Maybe it was having his emotions read back to him like a court record.

_Or maybe it’s everything. Perhaps he is just now beginning to understand that his life bears little resemblance to what it once was._

Hermione twined their fingers together and kissed his cheek.

“Partners?”

Draco nodded and affirmed, “Partners.”

They made their way back to the dinner table and things improved. Draco was uncomfortable throughout dinner but he made a conscious effort to appear relaxed. He dropped his shoulders a bit and even laughed at one of Parvati’s jokes. The worst part of it all was the strange setup: not knowing which questions led to information that would be shared with thousands of people and which bits of their lives they could keep for themselves.

“What made you give Draco a second chance, Hermione?” Parvati asked.

Draco turned to look at Hermione and said, “Now that is an interesting question.” She felt her face reddening. It was the most obvious question and yet she didn’t have an answer.

“I ... Don’t know, really,” she said. The corner of Draco’s mouth twitched up and Hermione hated him because he was so good at manipulating Parvati’s questions and able to avoid giving too much away. She had no idea how to do that.

“You don’t know why you let Draco Malfoy into your life again?” Parvati pressed on.

“No, of course I know that! I was parenting his son, it’s not like I could just keep Scorpius and not tell his father. One look at him and anyone can see he’s Draco’s child. It’s not like normal people have hair that bright.”

“You have no room to talk, Granger,” Draco said. “At least I don’t have to use an entire bottle of shampoo to wash mine.”

“No, but you go through a tube of hair gel each week. You put Lockhart to shame,” Hermione quipped.

“So you two are dating?” Parvati asked. When neither Draco nor Hermione responded she said, “I can make it into something else. But, off the record, between friends, I see the ring. I see the way you two react to each other.”

Hermione looked at Draco, but he leveled Parvati with a glare.

“You are not my friend, but you are Hermione’s friend so I will tell you that during my time in America I learned a lot of things about myself and how the world sees me. They have a sport called baseball—“

“Merlin’s arse, again with the bloody baseball?!” Blaise groaned.

“You would appreciate the metaphor if you didn’t have the sports acumen of a baby Mandrake.” Draco shot back.

“Continue,” Parvati demanded. The Quick Quotes Quill sped across the notebook so quickly the nib was more of a blur.

“Baseball is an individual game in a team sport, and after the war that was how I lived my life: alone. A pitcher is alone on the mound, but they also have eight people to depend on to make plays when things do not go as planned. I changed my life because I realized no one can control everything and everyone needs someone to depend on. My son needs more than I can give him: more protection, more love, more opportunity. If I was able to choose a team to be at my side when it comes to Scorpius, I can tell you without hesitation that my first selection would have been Hermione Granger.”

It wasn’t the first time Draco said something like that. This time, though, he had nothing to gain and so much to lose. It warmed Hermione’s heart and, because Draco Malfoy never did anything by half, he kept talking.

“I have been home nearly a month now and Hermione has been patient as I have gotten to know my son. You wish to know whether we are dating and I believe neither myself nor Hermione has a good answer to that question. We are focused on Scorpius and nothing takes priority over my son. But we are spending time together, we live with each other, and we have gathered a strange family. Hermione’s parents are friends with my mother.” Parvati’s eyebrows nearly got lost in her hair at that revelation. “The Potters, the Zabinis, our parents, Romilda Vane … Without Hermione, Scorp does not have them.”

“What are you saying?” Parvati asked.

“We are his parents in equal measure. Me by name and blood and Hermione in every other way that matters. As for what we are to each other, I pose it as a question to your readers. Once someone has seen the absolute worst of me, knows my greatest shame, and is willing to look past that to the person I am now, is willing to help raise my child as her own ... How long should it take before I fall in love?”

Hermione’s heart fell into her stomach as she realized Ginny was right. They were heading full-speed ahead toward Option A. Yet, that was just like Draco to send her into confusion while artfully avoiding answering the question. Parvati smiled like Draco had just given her the best Christmas present of her life.

“And I can print that?” she asked.

“You can print that,” Draco confirmed. 

 


	17. Fraternizing With the Enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A heart-to-heart and more shopping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super big hugs to Susanna for beta-ing this chapter!
> 
> 11/26/2018: Minor alterations made to the chapter text to improve narrative flow.

The _Witch Weekly_ article came out on December 10 th. Luna Lovegood painted the cover from what must have been one of Parvati’s memories. During dinner, Draco had made a joke about Scorp’s nappies that made Hermione tear up with laughter. She leaned into Draco’s side and he had a small, satisfied smile on his face. Hermione’s eyes were pinched shut, she had a huge grin and Draco had his arm wrapped around her shoulders. It was a beautiful painting, blurred at the edges like in a dream. None of this was particularly scandalous on its own. Perhaps Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger were merely close friends or he had said something truly funny. However, Luna included a small detail which shook the world of Wizarding gossip to its core: where Hermione’s right hand rested against Draco’s chest there was a bright ruby ring on her middle finger.

> _What would you do if a newborn baby wound up on your doorstep? Its mother dead, its father gone, the child has nowhere else to turn. If you are Hermione Granger, genius, Healer, war hero, you adopt the child because it needs you. And while Hermione Granger is loath to admit it, she needed someone else in her life. Motherhood was fine until she realized the father of her child was Draco Malfoy._
> 
> _Over time you will notice that Draco never lifts his left sleeve. In a warm room, you might catch him rolling the right sleeve of his button-down, but never the left. He knows we all have the same questions. How does it feel to be the only person outside of Azkaban with the Dark Mark? What does it look like? Draco will never answer, but he will admit the most terrifying moment of his life was realizing he had a five-month-old son._
> 
> _One child brought together two people who, at first glance, could hardly seem more different. The Pureblood Prince and the Muggle-born Genius have a son, and they are great parents. Dinner with the two of them was tense and they found ways to redirect the conversation to their son throughout the meal. I can tell you he listens to music from Muggle plays to get to sleep. I know that he smiles like his biological mother and is very ticklish._
> 
> _However, neither Hermione nor Draco has an answer to your most burning question._
> 
> **_P:_ ** _Are you dating?_
> 
> **_D:_ ** _The focus is on our son and nothing takes priority over him._
> 
> _Which is a great answer to a different question. Hermione and Draco banter back-and-forth like they always have, except there is no malice in the way they insult each other’s hair or who is the better nappy-changer. They have separate bedrooms, Malfoy takes care of their son while Hermione is at work, and their biggest fight so far has been about whether or not to give this interview. When asked about their current living arrangement, Malfoy had little to say._
> 
> **_D:_ ** _We are spending time together, we live with each other, and Hermione has created a strange family. One I have come to enjoy very much. Hermione’s parents are friends with my mother._
> 
> I must admit, I was not prepared to hear that. Narcissa Malfoy is friends with Hermione Granger’s Muggle parents! I have truly heard the impossible. The family they have is little more than a random assortment of people. The Potters are very fond of Hermione’s son, whom they refer to as a “nephew.” Blaise and Dean Zabini are the child’s godfathers. Romilda Vane is Hermione’s stylist, Blaise’s best friend, and self-professed “cool aunt.”
> 
> **_P:_ ** _So what is your relationship to Hermione? How would you define what you are to each other now?_
> 
> **_D:_ ** _We are his parents in equal measure. Me by name and blood and Hermione in every other way that matters. Hermione has seen the absolute worst of me and knows my greatest shame, yet she is willing to look past that to the person I am now and is willing to help raise my child as her own. Given all that, how long should it take before I fall in love?_
> 
> _After dinner, I found myself replaying that question in my mind. How long should it take? Anyone in our Hogwarts class could have told you these two would eventually be involved. They seemed to unwillingly gravitate toward each other. They’ve been living together about six weeks now, but shouldn’t we count all the time they had beforehand? Six years at school together, their moment at the Malfoy trial, and one time they ran into each other at Obscurus Books. Doesn’t that count as well? Don’t they know each other well enough by now to fall in love? I had days to answer Draco’s question, and I realized it shouldn’t take any time at all. He has been in love for as long as any of us can remember._

The article was mostly harmless. Questions and answers, Parvati commenting on the way they looked at each other for support … Nothing overtly untoward, God bless her editor. It was much better than what Hermione had seen of her notebook, though she did mix their words around a bit in true tabloid fashion.  

Before the article was published, Narcissa received fifty RSVPs for the party. She received four hundred the day of the article. Hermione received an owl from Chief Healer Battlehunt requesting she take the week off as people were crammed outside St. Mungo’s hoping to catch a glimpse of her. (More specifically, of her right hand.) By Thursday a thousand people were expected to attend Draco’s return celebration.

“I am sorry about this,” Draco said, lying on the study floor with Scorpius resting on his stomach. “I hate interfering with your work.”

“It isn’t your fault,” Hermione said with a sigh. She sat cross-legged on the couch, a large book spread open on her lap. She’d been eyeing this tome for days and missing out on work was more of an annoyance than anything.

“Perhaps not directly, but I might have been too much of a tease with Parvati,” Draco insisted.

“If you told her we were dating there would be twice as many people outside the hospital. If we said nothing, people would assume I am your live-in whore. You handled this as best you could,” Hermione said, resigned.

Draco sighed heavily and revealed, “Weasley RSVP’d for the ball tomorrow … For one.”

Hermione went completely still for a moment.

“Alicia gave birth a few weeks ago. I doubt she is ready to come to a ball.”

“And how are you feeling about him coming to our soiree?” Draco asked. Hermione knew he was testing the waters and only wished she had a good answer.

“I dunno,” Hermione admitted. “I haven’t seen him since before he married Alicia over a year ago.”

Draco rolled his head to the side so he could look at Hermione.

“Tell me why you left him.”

“No,” Hermione replied.

“Hermione, if he hurt you—“

“Ronald didn’t hurt me!” Hermione huffed and stared at the suddenly meaningless words on the page in front of her. “There is a good case to be made it was the other way around.” She nervously tucked some hair behind her ear and flipped a page in her book though she hadn’t understood a word on the previous one.

“If you do not want him to attend, I will tell him to bugger off since Weasels do not put me into a celebratory mood,” Draco joked. Hermione laughed.

“I suppose I dated him because loving Ron was easy. He was nice and brave and he loved me. Why wouldn’t I want to marry him? But he always felt second to Harry, second to me, and marriage is the one place he could be the provider. It is the one time when he can be the most important, where he can totally support someone. For us, that meant a family where I focused on our kids, giving up the life I always envisioned for myself.”

“You are far too valuable to squander your talent like that,” Draco observed.

“Well, that’s why I left him.” Hermione shrugged half-heartedly, attempting to cover up the heartache she knew would show on her face.

“But you still love him,” Draco said. Not a question.

“I love myself more,” Hermione replied. “And I love my son most of all, you know, so anything with Ron is not going to happen. He is married to Alicia and they have a baby now; it’s settled with them. I’m here with you. Ron’s probably just going to come to reprimand me for fraternizing with the enemy or some bollocks like that.” She rambled and wiped her nose with the end of her sweater sleeve.

Draco lifted himself and Scorpius up off the floor and sat to the right of Hermione on the couch. Scorp grabbed one of Hermione’s curls and let it spring back into place. He smiled and Hermione couldn’t imagine someone who could make her any happier.

Draco took a deep breath in through his nose and offered his left arm to Hermione. She raised an eyebrow and he rolled his eyes.

“I know you want to know,” Draco insisted.

Hermione didn’t need to be told twice. She delicately rolled the sleeve of his sweater up two finger lengths at a time. She had half of the Mark uncovered before she realized what she was looking at. The edges had faded to near-nothingness. The skull and snake had faded to bright white and Malfoy was so pale it hardly stood out against his skin. Once the fabric was bunched up by Draco’s elbow, Hermione delicately studied his forearm with her fingertips. The Mark rose from his skin ever-so-slightly and Draco balled his hand into a fist.

“I can’t feel anything there anymore,” he revealed. Hermione murmured her interest. “It was a blood bond; he could track us anywhere and summon us at any time. Now that he is gone, the Mark is numb. I can walk around without it being terribly noticeable except for the fact that everyone already knows to look for it.”

_This is amazing! I’ve never heard of a one-directional controlled blood bond. Merlin’s arse, that’s a revolting misuse of that magic, but fucking brilliant nonetheless. I say misuse … What good are blood bonds? It’s terrible magic, and if something had gone wrong the consequences would be unimaginable. And Draco had to give himself over at sixteen …_

“Thank you for showing me,” Hermione said as Draco jerked his arm away.

“I used to believe the only good I could do in this world is because of this,” he said, shoving the sleeve back down his arm. “Going undercover, exposing evil where I can, I thought that was my new role. Now I realize that I can be a good father, be good to our family. You agreed to help me do that and it means more to me than you can imagine.

“Whether I am your partner, boyfriend, or just the father of your son, I will never try to keep you from doing what you want to do. You want to heal people? Fine. You want to storm the Ministry and demand rights for house-elves? Fine. I think you fancy yourself becoming Minister for Magic and I will help you achieve that, too. If you do not want Weasley to come on Friday, I will ensure he won’t. But Hermione, I do not need you to be in love with me for that to happen. If you want to look elsewhere, I will not blame you or stop you.”

“Thanks,” Hermione whispered. “But I won’t be looking anywhere else.”

**.oOo.**

Hermione pushed off gown shopping until the last minute. She didn’t meet with Romilda until Thursday afternoon and was greeted with a disappointed glare.

“You waited until the day before to buy a gown?!” she shouted.

“It slipped my mind!” Hermione insisted. “With work, and Scorpius, and everything that’s not happening with Draco, I just didn’t have time to think about a dress!”

Romilda rubbed her temples and said, “God is testing me, Merlin is testing me, I am being tested.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. Romilda sighed, pulled her hair up into a ponytail, and said,

“Take my hand.”

Romilda took Hermione somewhere in London via Sidealong Apparition. At least, Hermione assumed they were still in London. She had no time to orient herself before Romilda pulled her through a green shop door.

The shop was rather small. There were elaborate gowns on mannequins, shelves of accessories, and even more dresses placed on racks lining the walls. It was overwhelming. There was _so much_ and Hermione needed something _right now._ On the priority scale, dress shopping for a ball she didn’t want to attend barely even made the chart. If this was what life was like in Pureblood society, Hermione wondered if she would have been better off staying with Scorp in Queens Park after all.

“Well, well, look what the Kappa dragged in.”

_Oh, no, I know that voice. Hell no._

Sure enough, it was Pansy Parkinson standing behind the sales counter. Dressed in head-to-toe black with 1940s-era curls, she looked good, actually. Still pug-faced, but she wasn’t possessed by disdain anymore. Hermione braced for an insult that never came.

“How are you, Romi?” Pansy asked.

“Stressed!” Romilda replied. “Hermione needs a gown for the party tomorrow and we haven’t even begun shopping!”

“So it’s true?” Pansy asked, shocked. “You’re dating Draco?”

“We are not dating!” Hermione insisted.

“Can we focus, please?” Romilda said, nervously snapping her fingers. “She needs a dress and you are the only designer I know who can have it fitted in time because, you know … Magic.”

Pansy smiled, no less unsettling than it was when they were twelve.

“Oh, I can do it, but it’ll cost you.”

“I really think we can do better,” Hermione said. She turned on her heel toward the door, but Pansy shouted after her.

“You know you can’t, Granger! Not unless you know another witch who makes clothes.”

Looking around the small shop, Pansy’s work was impressive. There were ball gowns in every colour, slimmer dresses, sheer dresses, anything and everything Hermione would have expected. It’s just … _It is Pansy Parkinson!_

“What do you have in mind?” Pansy asked. Hermione slowly walked back to Romilda’s side and replied,

“Something modest, of course. I want to blend into the walls if at all possible,” Hermione admitted. “Everyone there is going to be looking for me and I don’t want to make it any easier.”

Pansy nodded and said, “I have the perfect dress for you and it is the exact opposite of what you just described.” She pulled a dark red dress from the rack behind her and held it up for Romilda to inspect.

“Brilliant! Hermione, you said it yourself, everyone will be looking for you. Why bother trying to blend in when everyone will be staring at you the whole evening? This is perfect! Thank Merlin, I came to the professional.”

“Damn right,” Pansy replied. She motioned for Hermione to go to the back of the store, which wasn’t the back of the store at all. Pansy waved her hand and the wall vanished to reveal a dais not unlike the one in Romilda’s boutique. Hermione bristled.

“I’m not stepping into anything you made,” Hermione demanded. “This is too strange and I need some answers.”

Pansy rolled her eyes and threw the garment hanger over her shoulder.

“You want my goddamn autobiography, Granger? Both my parents were Death Eaters. Mum died in Azkaban five years ago and dad lasted another two. I was on my own after the Final Battle. No one wanted to buy anything from those of us associated with the Dark Lord. Ice cream, wands, books, we couldn’t get into any business because no one trusted us. However, everyone needs clothes and if you make the best then people don’t care who you are. That is why Blaise and I ended up in fashion. I just wanted something that I could do alone and would make me money.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes and asked, “But why would you want to help me?”

“I converted to the new ways, what can I say?” Pansy shrugged. When Hermione didn’t stop glaring, Pansy caved. “I fell in love with a Mudblood, alright?!”

“I thought you were in love with Draco,” Hermione said. Pansy chuckled.

“When I was sixteen! My options were him; Crabbe and Goyle, and I’d sooner die than kiss one of them; Theo, who, contrary to what he looks like now, hit puberty and looked like his mum fucked a Bowtruckle; and Blaise who’s gay. As, it turns out, am I.”

“Oh,” Hermione said.

“I could complain about the new ways or accept them and be happy. I was about twenty, relationship didn’t work out, but what the hell do I care if you have Muggle parents? You could hex me into nonbeing before I notice you’ve drawn your wand. So stand on the damn dais and let me tailor this dress.”

Hermione grit her teeth and stood on the small platform. Pansy magicked her clothes into a small pile on a nearby chair and held the gown open so Hermione could step inside. There was a small zipper running up one seam of the dress, invisible from the outside, so Pansy pulled it up as Hermione placed her arms in the sleeves.

“Oh, wow,” Hermione breathed out when she saw her reflection.

The dress was gorgeous, garnet-coloured and immodest. The neckline plunged to the centre of her torso, leaving a not-insignificant portion of her chest exposed. The dress had no back and once fitted would cling to her curves. Hermione felt beautiful and desirable in a way she hadn’t felt since she left Ron.

Pansy started pinning the ends of the sleeves and said, “Draco will love this.”

“We aren’t dating,” Hermione insisted. Romilda groaned loudly from where she perched on one of Pansy’s armchairs.

“Why is that?” Pansy asked.

_Because I’m afraid I won’t like him enough to make it last. I’m afraid I already like him too much. I’m frightened of what happens to Scorpius if our relationship doesn’t work out. Everything about Draco Malfoy has been too good to be true. He is nothing like Ron was, and Ron was easy. Malfoy is frustrating and he might also be the only person who can keep up with me the way I need him to._

“Because I’m scared,” Hermione finally admitted. Pansy had moved to pin the hem.

“You’d be a fool if you weren’t,” Pansy said. “Pureblood society is hell. Wait until you meet those batty old women, then you’ll understand why Lady Narcissa is such a bitch. There are many people who are going to hate you, and they will hate you even more for dating Draco.”

“We’re not—“

“That cover of _Witch Weekly_ , was it real?” Pansy asked.

“Yes, but—“

“Then you have a connection to Draco that no one else has, not even Blaise. He is not comfortable around many people, and considering everything you and Potter did to keep him out of Azkaban it’s hardly surprising that he wants to do everything he can to make you comfortable, too. Just remember I do wedding gowns.”

“I was surprised by how much Draco actually wanted to be a father,” Hermione admitted, ignoring that last comment. Pansy smiled in reply.

_When did Pansy Parkinson get so easy to talk to?_

“He always wanted to prove he was better at it than his father was. Lucius was real shit to him, more than you know. I mean, the things he said …” Pansy trailed off and shook her head in disgust. “Then, when it became a possibility he was frightened as hell. Draco forgave himself for a lot of things, forgave me for a lot of shit, that’s for certain, but he would never forgive himself for being an absent father.”

Pansy started pinning the neckline and Hermione instinctively moved away from her. _Hello, invasion of personal space!_ Pansy rolled her eyes and pulled Hermione closer.

“Move again and I’ll prick you.”

Once the pins were in, Pansy stepped back to inspect her work. She nodded approvingly and pulled out her wand. Hermione jumped backward and held up her hands.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

“Did you think I was going to sew this by hand?” Pansy asked. Hermione let her arms fall back to her sides. She took a deep breath as Pansy waved her wand.

“ _Textura Ligo!”_

The dress closed in on Hermione, shrinking to become a sort of second skin. The ends of the sleeves shrunk until they met Pansy’s pins. The hem crawled to meet the tips of Hermione’s toes and the neckline clung to her chest as the rest of the fabric hugged her sides. Romilda’s eyes went wide as she sat up and said,

“Hell, even I’d marry you right now.”

Hermione laughed and Pansy said, “I do good work. You look good, Granger. Thanks for bringing her, Romi, I can’t wait to see Draco stare at her all evening.”

“You’re coming?” Romilda asked. Pansy pointed to herself.

“Pureblood,” she said.

“Ah.”

Hermione spun in front of the mirrors, looking over her shoulder to catch a good view of the back. It was a lovely dress and she felt regal in it. Hermione felt like she could stand next to Narcissa and Draco Malfoy and feel like she belonged there. She asked,

“Pansy, if I wanted to make Lady Malfoy’s friends at this party uncomfortable, what would I do?”

Pansy pretended to think for a couple seconds then shrugged.

“They’ll be uncomfortable with you there at all. But if you really want to make them squirm … Kiss Draco.”

 


	18. The Party Don't Start 'til I Walk In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's a party without dancing and fisticuffs?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hugs to Susanna for correcting my Americanisms and being a great beta!
> 
> 11/26/2018: Minor changes made to the text to improve narrative flow.

Hermione may vomit at any moment. She met Draco on the first floor, feeling like she might as well have “MUDBLOOD” tattooed across her forehead. She was a little dizzy, her heart thumped a little too quickly, and when she spotted Draco it sped up for a different reason.

“Are you trying to kill me, Granger?” is all Draco could say when he saw Hermione’s dress. His eyes traveled down that slit in the front and he raised a suggestive eyebrow. “You look wonderful.”

“As do you,” Hermione replied. Dressed in a slim tuxedo, Hermione suspected she’d find Romilda’s fingerprints on his bowtie which just so happened to be the colour of Hermione’s gown.

Draco nervously picked at his fingernails and asked, “Did you dress up for Weasley, or is there another man I should be prepared for?”

“New man,” Hermione teased. “You might know him: tall, blond, gorgeous eyes, loads of Galleons …”

“Stop it, Granger, I’m blushing,” Draco joked, apparently pleased by that answer. Though Hermione noted he went a bit pink ‘round the ears at _gorgeous eyes._

“Oh, I thought McLaggen was coming,” Hermione quipped. Draco laughed as Hermione wrapped her fingers around the crook of his elbow. “How did Scorp take to Daphne?”

“Well,” Draco replied. “She loves him, of course, as everyone does. Though I still think you should have been there.”

“Nonsense,” Hermione said. “You two knew Astoria and you’re close. Daphne didn’t need me around. She’s part of his family in a way I can never be and I thought—“

“You thought wrong,” Draco insisted.

Hermione had no time to respond as the ballroom doors opened in front of them. She took a deep breath and the gravity of what they were about to do was heavy on her shoulders.

Lady Malfoy had spared no expense as she transformed the ballroom into a true winter wonderland. There were decorated trees that stood four metres tall lining the walls, the band wore red and white, and snow fell from the ceiling only to disappear about ten feet above the floor. The champagne was flowing and there must have been a dozen varieties of Christmas biscuits.

“You will be good at this,” Draco assured her. She closed her eyes for a moment and Draco rested his free hand on her arm.

_Don’t panic. I’m not going to panic._

The ballroom went silent as they entered. The band stopped playing, old Pureblood women stopped gossiping, and their entire Hogwarts class gaped at them from various points around the room. Hermione took a deep breath as Draco whispered,

“No going back now, Granger.”

The ballroom was tensely quiet for a few seconds, like that moment of adrenaline when you lean too far backward in a chair and your heart jumps. Draco smiled, satisfied because there were few things in the world he loved more than a dramatic entrance. The Marshal cleared his throat and announced,

“Presenting Miss Hermione Granger, Healer, Order of Merlin First Class.”

Hermione froze, but Draco dropped his arm and grabbed her hand instead, twining their fingers together as if to say, _Don’t worry, everything is going to be fine._

“And Lord Draco Malfoy.”

Which was about the moment all hell quietly broke loose. Every pair of eyes in the ballroom watched as Draco and Hermione made their way down the stairs and over to Lady Narcissa. The closer they got, the louder the whispers became.

_They’re holding hands!_

_Are they together? Obviously. I mean, together-together? No way, Granger would never—_

_I bloody well told you this would happen in sixth year, didn’t I?_

_Draco leveled-up, hasn’t he?_

Once they reached Lady Malfoy, Draco pressed a quick kiss to his mother’s hand.

“Hi, Mother. Decent turnout tonight, must be the biscuits,” he said. Lady Malfoy laughed and Hermione realized how tight her grip was on Draco’s hand. She started to sweat as there were a thousand pairs of eyes staring at her back.

“Lady Malfoy, I would curtsy but I cannot seem to make that happen in this dress,” Hermione said.

“Quite alright, Miss Granger, you look wonderful. If Draco learned one thing from his father it was how to charm powerful, beautiful women.” She fondly patted Draco’s shoulder and his entire face went crimson for a moment before Narcissa said, “Now come, I must show you off to my insufferable friends.”

Lady Malfoy wasn’t joking; her friends were unbearable. It was more of, “These are the few people who were willing to speak to me after the war so here I am with these blithering arseholes.” While Hermione would never say it aloud, each of them what Lady Malfoy (along with her son) once was: an entitled, wealthy racist with the resources to pretend they were superior to everyone else.

The dozen or so women looked exactly as Hermione would have pictured them. Each dressed to the nines in dress robes made from fabric she couldn’t pronounce and adorned with large pieces of jewelry that, in reality, were more gaudy than fashionable. They eyed Hermione the way she looked at less-than-savory potion ingredients.

“Ladies, this is the newest addition to the Malfoy family, Hermione Granger,” Narcissa said.

“So it’s true then?” asked an older woman in a green fascinator.

“I hardly know what you mean,” Narcissa replied, feigning ignorance.

After a few beats of silence, the oldest woman said, “You sanctioned a Mudblood Malfoy, Narcissa! How can you, of all people--”

“That word is no longer tolerated in my home,” Lady Malfoy interrupted. “It offends Hermione and should you use it again, you will be asked to leave.”

“You cannot be serious,” another woman with squinty eyes insisted.

“My son banned the word, and he is the head of the house now,” Narcissa replied.

“Ah, well he is in need of some moral guidance you can’t provide,” quipped the youngest of the bunch.

“Moral guidance?” Hermione asked. “That’s a bit like a goblin calling a house-elf short, isn’t it?”

Everyone’s heads snapped toward her as though they’d forgotten she was there. The younger one, dressed in bright pink dress robes, likely in her late thirties and quite beautiful, did not escape Lady Malfoy’s notice. This young witch looked at Hermione with such contempt that Hermione could read the words “ _You don’t belong here!”_ on her face.

“Forgive me for not taking insult from Draco Malfoy’s Mudblood whore,” she quipped back. Before Hermione could respond, Lady Malfoy asked,

“How is your cat, Eldra?”

“Oh, wonderful!” the young woman said excitedly. “She birthed a litter of kittens just last week. Purebred, of course.” She shot another disgusted look at Hermione.

“Ah, yes, you see there is one point upon which your husband and I do agree,” Narcissa said.

“What’s that?”

“The most interesting thing about you is your pussy.”

Before the remark had fully registered, Lady Malfoy looped her arm through Hermione’s and led her through the crowd toward Draco and Blaise. Narcissa whispered,

“The best thing about having you here is getting to put those women and their repulsive husbands in their place. That younger one is Eldra MacNair. Just as nasty as her father, but she should thank Merlin that she got her mother’s looks. She offered to marry Draco at one point and even Lucius put his foot down.”

As Narcissa continued smiling and glad-handing her way around the room, Hermione couldn’t quite figure out when the world had tilted on its axis. The ballroom felt strangely separate from reality outside the manor and Hermione’s confidence began to build.

_Home team advantage, as Ginny would say._

“Draco,” Lady Malfoy called as they approached, “The dance floor has been empty long enough.”

“I see you survived the snake pit,” Blaise whispered to Hermione. She nodded, exhausted from smiling at people who glared at her in return. Blaise gave her a reassuring pat. He glanced over to see the back of her dress, and laughed. “Nice.”

 Draco caught her attention and offered his hand.

“May I have this dance?”

Hermione took his proffered hand and exhaled heavily.

_I can do this. I can do this. I can definitely do this._

“You can waltz?” Draco asked. Hermione nodded in reply so Draco said, “Good then. Now, for once in your life I need you to follow me. Can you do that?”

Hermione nodded again and Draco pulled her onto the dancefloor. He took her right hand in his left as Hermione placed her other hand on his shoulder and Draco placed his free hand in the middle of her back. His eyes widened in surprise as he trailed his fingertips slightly down her spine.

“Hermione ... There is no back to this dress,” Draco whispered.

“Astute observation, Malfoy. Now are you going to dance or keep feeling me up in front of a thousand people?”

“I am unopposed to either,” Draco said as the music began.

Hermione hadn’t waltzed since Harry’s wedding. She wasn’t an awful dancer but wouldn’t go so far as to call herself good. (She would rate herself solidly “decent.”) Draco, on the other hand, was excellent. When the band started “The Christmas Waltz,” Hermione was swept up in his embrace and forgot there was anyone watching.

From the first step onward Draco was in total control of their movements. While their audience was staring at the ring on her hand, she focused on his eyes to avoid getting dizzy as he spun them from one end of the dancefloor to the other. About halfway through the song, Draco raised his arm so she could spin under it before taking her back into a closed hold.

“Do you trust me?” he asked, still guiding her to the edge of the dancefloor then heading back toward the centre.

“Am I going to regret saying yes?” Hermione replied.

“I am going to drop your hand, then I need you to sort of jump onto my side. Do you understand what I’m asking?”

“Lead the way, Malfoy,” Hermione said. If Draco felt her trembling, he didn’t let on. When he let go of her hand, Hermione did as he said and jumped up toward him. He caught her a few inches off the ground and hugged her to his side as he spun them around in a circle. The guests oohed and aahed at the small lift, and Hermione put her hand on Draco’s chest to steady herself when he placed her back on the ground. She smiled at Draco as the singer crooned out, _Pretty things for you and for me … It’s that time of year when the world falls in love …_

Draco was easy to follow; he never lingered too long on one point of the dancefloor. Wise, since Hermione was tempted to scan the crowd for a certain ginger head. Part of her was desperate to see the look on Ron’s face as she danced with Malfoy, taking more than a little gratification knowing he was watching her smile at his personal rival.

“You are doing excellent, Granger,” Draco observed. Hermione’s heart was beating a couple hundred times a minute, but otherwise she figured everything was going fairly well. “I need you to jump straight up for me in a moment with your hands on my shoulders and then you’ll have to follow my lead.”

“Merlin help me,” Hermione muttered as she jumped up. Draco lifted her higher so Hermione’s hands nearly came off the shoulders of his suit jacket. He spun them around in one circle, then another, and slowly lowered her down to the ground. She smiled and pulled him into a hug as the song ended.

“That was such fun!” Hermione giggled, a little hyped up on adrenaline. Draco smiled at her and sighed contentedly.

“Yeah, yeah it was.”

His hand lingered on Hermione’s back as other couples filtered onto the dancefloor, slowly drifting downward as the band began their next melody. She grabbed his fingers and moved them upward several centimetres as he glanced approvingly over her shoulder at her bum. A few songs later Hermione found herself dancing with Harry, smiling and having a genuinely good time. Then Ginny stole her away to talk, joined soon after by Romilda and Pansy Parkinson. Angelina Johnson came over, followed by Katie Bell minutes later, and somehow they all ended up doing shots of the Malfoys’ eggnog at the back of the ballroom. Hermione kicked back her third, slammed it on a waiter’s tray, and high-fived Ginny.

“This is so much fun!” she shouted perhaps a little too loudly. Ginny handed her one of the apple cider shots but Hermione shook her head. “No more, I haven’t eaten for hours so I could fit into this dress.”

“It looks amazing,” Ginny said. Hermione smiled, a bit guilty about not spending as much time with her lately, but appreciative of the moral support. “Plus, Malfoy keeps looking over here to make sure none of the men get too explorative with their fingers,” she teased.

Hermione could tell about half the crowd thought she didn’t belong at their party. People from all swaths of Pureblood society glared at her like she deserved to be punished for taking away their “prince.” However, Pansy Parkinson was slowly shifting closer to Katie Bell so Hermione thought Draco may only be the second-most surprising Pureblood to jump ship that night.

“Spill, Hermione!” Angelina teased, shouting over the music. “What’s Malfoy like?”

Hermione hiccuped.

“He’s been really great. Good father to Scorp so far. It’s only been a month, but he’s--”

“I meant how’s the sex?” Angelina said.

“Oh! I wouldn’t know anything about that,” Hermione blushed. “I mean, we kissed once, but that’s all.” They stared at Hermione like she told them she planned to shave her head and quit Healing to become an activist for Nargle rights.

“You haven’t slept with him at all?” Katie asked, taking an apple cider shot from Pansy. “Not that it’s bad, but he looks like _that_ and he looks at you like _that_.”

“He looks at me like what?” Hermione asked.

“Like he wants to unwrap you like a Christmas present,” Ginny answered. Hermione laughed, but she was met by five deadpan stares.

“Oh, you can’t be serious,” she insisted. Those eggnog shots must be really potent because she started to feel a bit woozy. “We like each other a lot, but ... He’s ... We ...”

“I think what you mean to say is, ‘Romilda, please take me lingerie shopping,’” Romilda teased.

“Oh, please do,” Draco said from over Hermione’s shoulder. She jumped and Katie nearly spilled her cider down her dress. Draco made his way through their circle to grab Pansy in a hug.

“Good to see you, Pans,” he said. Pansy pushed him away and smacked his arm.

“You’ve been back six whole weeks and didn’t bother to owl me for tea?!”

“Sorry, I was drowning in shite and baby drool,” Draco replied with a smile. He slid his arm around Hermione’s shoulders and she leaned into him. She heard Angelina mumble something that sounded like, “Shag already!”

“Do you want to dance?” Draco asked. Hermione nodded and he led her back toward the dancefloor.

About halfway there, Draco’s arm fell from Hermione’s shoulders and he took a half-step to stand slightly in front of her. When Ron appeared, she realized Ginny had really pulled her to the back of the ballroom because she and Harry had been trying to keep them apart all night. Hermione had not ingested enough alcohol for this.

Ron smiled warmly and said, “Hey, ‘mione.”

Hermione couldn’t bring herself to say anything. It had been over a year and so much had changed that seeing Ron took her back to a life which hardly felt like her own. Last time Hermione saw Ron she didn’t even have a son.

“You look beautiful,” Ron observed, pointedly ignoring the blond wall between them. “Alicia wanted me to tell you hello for her. For us, I mean.”

_Could this be any more awkward? People are starting to stare._

“Do you have a point, Weasley?” Draco asked. “Or are you simply here to impede on my fun? Granger and I were just about to dance so if you could finish babbling sometime this decade we would appreciate it.”

Ron’s face fell into a contemptuous expression he’d been perfecting for fifteen years.

“I just want to talk to Hermione, but you’re clinging to her like a Venomous Tentacula!” he insisted.

“Then speak quickly,” Draco said. Ron rolled his eyes and Hermione remembered she was supposed to have said something.

“I ... Good. Good to see you, too,” Hermione stuttered out. “How’s the baby?”

“Excellent! Her name’s Rose, perfectly healthy, ginger, of course. I’m really happy. Alicia’s well too.”

“Great! I’m glad to hear that,” Hermione lied.

_I don’t want to know about your life, Ron. Not until I’ve got mine sorted. You’re too complicated and I still miss you._

“I read Parvati’s article. Seems you have a kid now, too?” Ron asked.

“Yes she does,” Draco said menacingly. Ron ignored him and waited for Hermione to answer.

“I do,” she confirmed. Hermione looked Ron in the eyes and couldn’t help the smile spreading across her face. “His name is Scorpius and I can’t imagine my life without him.”

“Scorpius? That’s a strange choice,” Ron said.

“Take care with how you speak about my son, Weasley,” Draco warned.

“It really is Malfoy’s kid? You live here, ‘mione?” Ron asked. When she nodded, Ron said, “Bloody hell! After everything we went through here? What happened to you?!”

“Ronald! I made my own choices!” Hermione insisted. “Do you think this is easy for me?! Scorp wound up on my doorstep, what the hell was I supposed to do?”

“I just didn’t think you’d move on from me with Malfoy, of all people!” Ron said.

“That’s not what this is!” Hermione insisted.

“Right, of bloody course it isn’t!” Ron said facetiously. “Hermione, I’m not stupid. You wouldn’t choose Malfoy unless you wanted to make me jealous.”

“Oh, shut up, Ronald!” Hermione shouted. At least fifty more people heard and turned to look. “I didn’t choose Draco and Draco didn’t choose me! I chose to care for his son. That may have bound us together in a way I didn’t expect, but I wouldn’t change it for anything.”

“When you said you wanted some excitement in your marriage I didn’t realize you meant a Death Eater!” Ron shouted back.

Draco had his fist in Ron’s face before Hermione could even react. The people closest to them gasped and gave the three of them a wide berth. They stared and whispered in each others’ ears, exactly the scenario Hermione had wanted to avoid. She spotted Harry a few metres away, trying to make his way through the crowd as Ron backpedaled a couple steps and placed two fingers against the bottom of his nose. When he drew them back they were covered in blood. Draco grinned maliciously.

“I have wanted to do that for ages!” Draco shouted. He wrung out his hand and unbuttoned his jacket. “You insult my son, you second-guess Hermione’s choices, and now you insult me? That’s my family!”

Ron chuckled in disbelief.

“You and your family said mine was shit for years just for sympathizing with Muggle-borns! You hated Hermione! And now, what, you want to keep her around because she’s a better parent that you? Or maybe she’s a means to better your family name!” Ron accused.

Draco stepped forward to punch Ron again, but Hermione grabbed his arm.

“Don’t!” she demanded. Draco ripped his arm from her grasp but didn’t move forward. He turned to look at her and asked,

“Why not?”

Hermione was thrown off a bit because, well, she hadn’t expected him to stop. His eyes were filled with rage but he’d pulled himself out of it just enough to hear her.

“Because I don’t want people to see you like this anymore,” Hermione said.

“Oh what, Hermione, because he’s changed?” Ron asked like it was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. He sniffed and wiped some of the blood from beneath his nose. “He’s probably just hoping you’ll be here to give him a good shag.”

Hermione glared at Ron for no more than a half-second, but it was enough to break Draco’s resolve. He rounded on Ron, who met him with a punch to the jaw. Hermione grabbed their shoulders and tried to pull them off each other, but suddenly Ginny was there to pull her away.

“No! Get off me!”

“Hermione, you do not want to get in the middle of that,” Ginny said, her arm tight around her waist. She was right, as they were several inches taller than her; fueled by some combination of adrenaline, testosterone, and a decade of pent-up aggression. Dean and Harry entered the circle and just as they were about to close in, the dumb-arse duo Apparated to the other end of the ballroom. The crowd turned toward the brouhaha as though they were watching a quick-moving Quidditch match.

Harry and Dean ran through the crowd, across the dancefloor to try and separate them, but they Apparated after Draco landed a few more punches. When they reappeared a dozen metres away, Ron got in a punch to Draco’s stomach before he was pinned against the wall by his lapels. Ron Disapparated then appeared right behind Draco, who ducked before Ron swung at him.

“Why are they so goddamn stupid!” Hermione asked. Ginny released her hold so Hermione kicked off her shoes, picked them up, and ran toward the fracas. Draco plied Ron’s fingers from his throat and kneed Ron in the stomach.

Harry and Dean finally arrived to pull them off each other, but only for a moment. Ron tackled Draco and landed one final punch before Dean pulled Draco out. Harry pulled Ron backward so there were two metres between them. Both lunged for each other again but Hermione stepped between them with her hands up.

“Enough!” she shouted.

Harry held Ron back with an arm around the front of his waist. Ron’s hair was a mess and blood streamed down from his nose to drip off the end of his chin. More blood stained the cuffs of his dress robe, but Hermione couldn’t tell whether it was Draco’s or his own. Draco wasn’t faring much better, as one of his cheekbones had turned a nasty yellow colour. There was a small cut on his left eye and the knuckles of his right hand had been rubbed raw.

“Look what you’ve done!” Hermione shouted. Everyone was staring but she couldn’t find it within herself to care. She turned to Ron and slapped him across the face. He winced as she shouted,

“What the hell was that?! Do you think it’s easy for me to see you here? To see you happy and know you have a family I’m not part of?”

“You left me, Hermione, in case you’ve forgotten,” Ron spat back.

“Because it was what’s best for us!” Hermione insisted. “I love you, but that can be true while I move on. You had no right to say I am just a good shag. You had no right! And it might make you uncomfortable, but my son is a Malfoy. He is the most important thing to me now, and if you cannot accept that then you can’t be in my life at all.”

She had little time to take in Ron’s stricken expression before rounding on Draco.

“And you!” she shouted, flinging her shoes at him. “Partners! We are supposed to be partners and I don’t need you to defend me by punching my ex-fiance!”

“But he said—“ Draco began, and Hermione cut him off.

“He was being an arse to irritate you! Do you think anything Ron says is going to make me love my son any less?” she challenged.

“Of course not!” Draco replied.

“Do you believe what Ron says will make me care for you any less?”

Instead of answering, Draco knocked Dean’s hand from his shoulder. He grit his teeth, cracked his knuckles, and winced. Hermione balled up Draco’s shirt in her fist.

“He can’t take away what you’ve done, good or bad. You are going to be an amazing father, I know that, and I didn’t go to Ron when I needed support with Scorp. I didn’t talk to Ron when I was worried about going back to work. I come to you, not him, because I trust you. You are better than this and no one knows it except for me because this is all they see of you!”

“I don’t see why I should care as no one else’s opinion matters half as much as yours,” Draco quietly admitted. He said it with such sincerity that it took Hermione by surprise. Like he was shocked she could have expected him to care what anyone else thought as long as she believed he could be a good person. Hermione stood on her toes to give him a chaste kiss because she didn’t have words to thank him. She felt where Ron had split open Draco’s lip and dropped her grip on his shirt. Draco’s hand was warm against her back, pulling her closer to his chest for a moment before he loosened his hold.

“Try not to be so stupid next time Ron’s an insensitive git. And Ronald, if you—“ Hermione stopped abruptly when she caught sight of everyone’s faces. Harry’s face was pinched like he just stepped in Dragon dung and Ron’s was the colour of a cherry tomato. To her left, Pansy gave her a thumbs-up and more than a few people were handing Sickles to George Weasley.

_Oh my God, I kissed Draco Malfoy in front of everyone. Merlin on high, Ginny will never let me live this down._

The only person beaming more than Ginny was Lady Malfoy. Hermione was grateful when Draco put his arm around her waist because there was so much to take in she very nearly fell over with the weight of it. Her vision telescoped when she locked eyes with Ron. Thank Merlin Harry was there to take charge.

He pushed Ron toward the stairs and shouted, “Malfoy, follow me!”

Draco scooped Hermione’s shoes off the floor, took her hand, and led her upstairs after them. She collapsed into a nearby chair the second the doors closed behind the four of them.

 _I am so tired_.

Since it was no longer necessary to put up a brave front, Hermione let her guard down and all the disdainful faces from the party went on parade behind her eyelids.

“Potter, you promised you would keep him away from me!” Draco insisted. “I told you he could have as much time as Hermione would give him if he stayed out of my way.”

“What did you want me to do, Malfoy?” Harry asked. “Put him on a leash? Tie him to a Christmas tree?”

“I wanted to have a bit of fun and still allow this ginger arsehole the opportunity to talk to Hermione like a goddamn adult!”

“Can we get back to the fact that Hermione just snogged Malfoy?!” Ron shouted.

“What are you, Weasley? Twelve?” Draco snapped.

“Why didn’t you owl me, Ronald?” Hermione changed the subject, exhaustion evident in her tone.

“Because I couldn’t do that, ‘mione!” Ron shouted. She winced and Ron softened his voice a bit. “You cut me off the moment I told you Alicia and I were getting married. I didn’t believe Harry or Gin when they told me you and Malfoy were … Whatever the bloody hell you’re doing with each other. How could I? None of this makes any sense!”

“Does it need to make sense?” Hermione asked. She shrugged and said, “I like him. My mum even likes him, too.”

“But I’m sure your dad saw what a prick he is right from the off,” Ron cut in.

“Whether any of this is sensible is none of your concern, Weasley. I offered to rescind your invitation but Hermione wanted you here. And you repay her by insulting her in front of our guests, questioning her choices, and making her appear like a Mudblood harlot out for the affections of two pureblood men,” Draco said. “You just made everything for us much more difficult but sure, continue to stand here and pretend to be any better than me. We are both selfish arseholes when it comes to Hermione and the difference between the two of us is that I am trying to be better!”

Ron didn’t say much, his anger ebbing with every word to come out of Draco’s mouth. He looked at Hermione and she closed her eyes again.

_This is too much. I am not smashed enough for this conversation. I just want to go upstairs, curl beneath the covers, and pretend this evening never happened._

“I can’t believe you never told me you had a kid, Hermione,” Ron finally said.

“I didn’t like how it looked,” Hermione admitted. “Draco had been in America and the timing of it, you know … There was no good way to tell you so I chose not to tell you at all.”

“I understand why you left. I promise I do. I moved on and I wanted you to do the same and be happy, but I just can’t believe Malfoy is the one to help you do that.”

“Ronald, I’m too tired to do this with you. I like him, alright? He supports my choices, even the thick-headed ones like inviting you tonight. If you want to talk to me, I’ll come see you and Alicia. She was one of my best friends and I do miss her, but watching you move on was hard for me. I know how difficult it must be for you to see me with Draco, but you can’t expect me to change my mind because you throw a temper tantrum and punch my boyfriend.”

_My boyfriend? That escalated quickly. What the hell did they put in that eggnog?_

“Please send our sincere congratulations and best wishes to Alicia, as while I missed the newborn stage Hermione tells me it comes with a rather hellish sleep schedule.” Draco said to Ron. “However, should you insult my son or my girlfriend again you will find yourself dealing with her instead of me, and we both know that is much, much worse.”

Harry laughed and everyone turned to look at him.

”I was going to invite you all over for Christmas Eve dinner, but perhaps that is a bad idea.”

“Oh, I would love that!” Hermione said, placing her hand over chest. “I would love to go! Draco, do we have plans?”

“Christmas Eve should be acceptable,” Draco nodded. “Can we bring Scorpius?”

“Of course!” Harry said. “Al and Jay will be there, it’s the whole Weasley family, so Victoire, Freddie, Roxanne, Dominique, Molls … Lots of kids.”

Draco’s face drained of its colour.

“Can I reasonably expect to make it out of this meal with all my limbs still attached to my body?” he asked. Harry shrugged.

“I make no guarantees, but everyone really wants to see Hermione so they’ll tolerate you.”

“Yes!” Hermione interjected, pushing herself up off the chair. “We will be there. I’m going to bed, but I assume you’ll read about tonight’s adventure in the next issue of _Witch Weekly_ and probably Sunday’s edition of the _Prophet_. Ronald, I forgive you for tonight and I am sorry for keeping my distance. I will see you at Christmas Eve dinner, and tell Alicia I want to see her, too.”

Hermione stood in front of Ron and looked up into those familiar blue eyes. He still felt betrayed by her choice; Hermione could see it written in the lines of his face. There was a point in time when looking at Ron felt like being home, but just then it only made her angry.

“And Ronald, if you ever call him a Death Eater again our friendship is over.”


	19. You Think Too Much

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bom chicka wow wow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big hugs and smiles for Susanna who took time out of her schedule to beta this chapter. (Warning: there is a scene of mature nature at the end of this chapter.)
> 
> 11/30/2018: Significant changes made to the chapter text. This includes removing a conversation with the Grangers, removing the ending dinner scene, and making additional changes to improve narrative flow.

Hermione couldn’t sleep.

Exhausted, she peeled herself out of her gown and her pyjamas felt heavenly by comparison. Having spent the evening as a Muggle-born on display, she didn’t feel safe until she was covered. She pulled on thick, fuzzy socks before collapsing onto her mattress. Even with her eyes closed and covers pulled up to her neck, sleep wouldn’t come. Hermione flopped over and buried her face in a pillow. She grumbled indiscernibly as her strength slowly seeped away. The night had nearly been a victory. She smiled at people who wished her ill and answered each insult with grace.

_Just like a good Pureblood wife would do._

She hated herself for it. She lost count of the number of times she swallowed an insult or averted her own glare in favour of a more neutral expression. Being that woman didn’t feel like being Hermione Granger, and all those unfriendly faces kept appearing in her mind’s eye like some kind of waking nightmare.

It was Eldra MacNair who troubled Hermione most. Not because of what she said, but for how Hermione felt when she said it. Draco never made Hermione feel like his whore. (Or his nanny or his token Muggle-born friend for that matter.) From the moment he first defended Hermione to his mother, Draco had never made Hermione feel like anything less than family.

She heard when Draco came into his bedroom, which meant the festivities had finally ceased. She heard his suit hit the floor, piece by piece, which he left in a pile before throwing himself onto his bed with a long groan.

_I can relate._

At some point one o’clock turned into three which faded to five and fatigue finally won out.

**.oOo.**

Hermione woke at one o'clock the following afternoon with aching bones and cotton mouth. All the confusion, the hate, the adrenaline from the previous night had evaporated and left her strangely empty. She scrambled to get off her bed and grabbed the first things she touched in her closet before padding over to the bathroom.

A minute later, Hermione closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the shower wall. Hot water droplets landed on her shoulders then trailed down her back as her thoughts drifted to the night before.

She didn't regret kissing Draco. In fact, snogging him in front of everyone was the closest she felt to herself all night. He'd made her forget there was anyone else in the room, much less that every single pair of eyes was trained on them. Merlin's arse, though, Draco had pulled himself from the brink of violent rage because she asked him to.

_"No one else's opinion matters half as much as yours." Good God, what does that even mean? That is power over Draco Malfoy I never expected to have._

Then she thought about the rest of it, of Ron's accusations and how betrayed he was by her choices. She thought about the headlines, "Star-Crossed Lovers" or "Malfoy Muddies the Water" would probably feature somewhere. Hermione wiped away the water gathering on her forehead and realized her fingers had begun to prune.

She rinsed all the product from her hair so it would dry into its natural frizzy mess, toweled off, then drew a green jumper over her head. She pulled on a pair of jeans since she planned to hole up in the manor until Monday when she had to leave again. With no one to impress she kept her fuzzy socks on.

"Morning, Granger," Draco said when Hermione found him on the floor in Scorp's nursery. Scorpius was throwing or, more accurately trying to throw, small balls back toward his father.

She liked Draco’s bright blue sweater with his sleeves rolled up to the elbows, the way he smiled when she walked into the room, and that Scorpius was finally able to sit up on his own without falling on his face.

_Oh, Merlin’s eyelash, he has both sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Don’t look. Don’t look!_

She peeked. Just for a second, but Draco didn’t notice.

She answered, “Morning.” There were several awkward, silent seconds before Draco finally came out with it.

“Hermione, I appreciate everything you did last night. You were perfect, truly, right up to the end you were everything you needed to be to get my world to shut up about you. But somewhere between punching Weasley and you calling me your boyfriend, I realized perhaps I had gotten this all wrong.”

“Wrong how?” Hermione asked, a little hurt.

“I kept looking over at you—Roger Davies should feel fortunate that he still has ten fingers—waiting for you to snap. Waiting for the Hermione Granger I know to explode in this glorious fit of Muggle-born rage to put all of pureblood society in its place. When you threw your shoes at me I couldn’t help but think that is the Hermione I wish had shown up. So I went and mucked this all up by asking you to prove you can be part of my world the way it is.

“I suppose my question to you is, did you enjoy yourself last night?”

One question and everything from the night before came flooding back. So much of silencing herself felt eerily reminiscent of being twelve years old, locked in a bathroom for hours on end because no one liked the bossy, Muggle-born know-it-all. Hermione wiped tears from her eyes and stared at the ground as she shook her head.

Draco patted the spot on the floor next to him. Hermione plopped down to sit behind Scorpius instead, scooping him into her lap and handing him another toy ball. Scorp threw it and it went a couple dozen centimetres before rolling to a stop.

“Tell me what went wrong for you,” Draco said, picking up the ball and handing it back to Scorp.

“I didn’t expect it to be so bad,” Hermione admitted. “There I was, in a room filled with hundreds of people who hate me as though I was fine until they saw me with you. Like you’re some sort of Pureblood prize or something.”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“They don’t like that my money or my son will be shared with a Muggle-born. As though I can be bothered to care. You know half of them were willing to testify against me in exchange for keeping themselves out of Azkaban. Now they suddenly find themselves so concerned for my well-being,” he said facetiously.

“Well, Eldra MacNair—“

Draco snorted—actually snorted with laughter. He held up a hand as his laughter turned into giggling.

“I’m—I am sorry, d’you mean to tell me Eldra started all of this for you?”

“Well …” Hermione stuttered as her face burned with embarrassment. “Sort of.”

Draco wiped tears from his own eyes and tried to stifle his laughter.

“She’s beautiful, obviously, but—“

“Yes, and it was awkward. She called me your … your …” Hermione placed her hands over Scorpius’s ears. “She called me your Mudblood whore and it was a little debasing.” Hermione let her hands fall back to Scorpius’s middle and tickled him. He looked up at her, smiled, and stuck his tongue out. She smiled back and when she looked up at Draco he was smiling softly at the both of them.

“She asked me to marry her about five years ago,” Draco said. “She came to me and, look, blood tradition is something I care very much about. It is not about purity, it is about tradition and marrying into a family the Malfoys can be proud of for generations to come. My father married up, obviously, and one day I hope to …” Draco trailed off and started picking nervously at the carpet. “I hope to do the same. Eldra did not fit what I consider worthy of extending the bloodline. And I was bollocks-deep in Blaise, so the word ‘uninterested’ hardly covers it.”

Hermione blanched at the crassness, but Draco hardly seemed bothered by it. He said it so casually, with so little concern, that Hermione couldn’t help but ask,

“How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“You were in love with your best friend and now you’re both back to being whatever you were before. How do you do it?” she asked. Draco was much too perceptive in his reply.

“You want to get back to where you were with Weasley,” he said distastefully.

“Wouldn’t you?” Hermione asked. Draco raised a skeptical eyebrow and she amended, “I just mean that it’s hard being away from him. I’m close with my friends, you know, Angelina, Katie, and I love Ginny—she’s like my sister. But Harry and Ron are my best friends and we went through so much no one else could ever understand. Losing one of them feels unfair.”

Draco sighed heavily.

“You start by recognizing you are not right for each other. Blaise and I knew it early on, but it was good anyway. Not just the sex but getting to be with this person who knows you so well. There was not a single thing about me that he didn’t know.” Hermione nodded because that much, at least, was familiar. “But there are little things that build up. Blaise complains all the time about living in England. All the bloody time! ‘Italy is so beautiful, Draco,’” he said in a near-perfect impression of Blaise. Draco handed Scorpius some more of the tiny balls and continued his rant.

“If it is so bloody beautiful why doesn’t he just move?! He would complain all the time and do nothing about it. He made me feel like it was my fault, like I have personally trapped him in Britain. Use the bloody Floo, Blaise! Go whenever the hell you fancy, I don’t care!” He took a deep breath. “Anyway, little things.”

Hermione chuckled. Scorpius seemed to get bored of the balls and curled into her stomach.

"Everything fell apart after my father found out, but neither one of us blames the other. If Weasley is still upset with you for walking out it is never going to work. You have to look forward and accept that you are not the best option. Blaise was so used to being alone and Dean makes him happier than I ever saw him when we were together. So … That is how you do it. You move on." Draco shrugged like that wasn’t one of the worst moments of his life, but Hermione could tell it was much more important than he was making it out to be.

“Neither one of us blames the other. If Weasley is still upset with you for walking out it will never work. Blaise was so used to being alone and Dean makes him happier than I ever saw him when we were together. So … That is how you do it. You move on.”

“But—“

“Is Spinnet a good match for Weasley?” Draco asked.

“Yes, she’s great for him! She loves Quidditch, she’s nice, she always wanted to be a mum—“

“And is he happy?”

“I … I think so?” Hermione answered. “He said he’s happy and I believe him.”

“Then perhaps Weasley is not the problem,” Draco said. Hermione’s head snapped up and she was about to yell at him until she realized he might be right. He tossed some of Scorpius’s toy balls back and forth between his hands as he asked,

“Why do you still love him? It has been three years and Dean says you haven’t dated anyone since.”

“You three are gossiping about my love life, are you?” Hermione asked.

“Stop changing the subject, Granger, I want to know the answer. But I also have to ask, were you serious yesterday when you referred to me as your boyfriend or were you just trying to irritate Weasley?”

Hermione felt her cheeks flush.

 _Oh, so we’re having_ that _conversation now, too._

“Yes, I meant everything I said. I told you that I have a problem finding people who understand that I can’t be Hermione Granger, war hero, brightest witch of her age, Order of Merlin First Class all the time. People expect me to support myself because I have done all these great things and I just can’t. I like that I don’t have that problem with you.”

Draco smiled and confirmed, “No, you don’t.”

“I keep holding onto Ron because it’s a reminder that someone loved me at one point, you know? And it could happen again.”

Draco replied, "I think it will.”

**.oOo.**

Some parts of being Draco Malfoy's girlfriend were easy. There were cheek kisses, shy smiles, and hands to be held. Hermione laughed when Scorpius made one of his futile attempts to climb Draco's leg and get to his lap. They started watching Scorpius together more often, sitting together to watch him play as Hermione read her books or owled her friends. Any time Narcissa went out over the next five days, they ended up on a sofa, snogging like randy teenagers. When they put Scorpius to bed each night, Hermione looked back toward Draco's room and wondered if she should follow.

Though, not everything about being Draco Malfoy's girlfriend was easy. While Draco had been very cavalier about sex, he and Hermione danced around it. When things felt like they may escalate, one of them would make a benign excuse to leave. Hermione pushed it off for a myriad of reasons, the primary one being he's Draco fucking Malfoy and they spent a decade hating each other, but also ...  _What if it's bad?_

Hermione went to work three full days without any mention of the party. Her research staff was quieter than usual, but that was a welcome change. It wasn't until Trisha Buttermere accidentally put Manticore liver into one of the antidotes that everything fell apart.

"Trisha, it's Dragon liver," Hermione chastised her lightly. "Manticore reacts poorly with the shrivelfig; you know better than this."

"Well I thought you knew better than to date a Death Eater, but apparently I was wrong," Trisha shot back. Everyone in the room went silent. Trisha immediately covered her mouth in shock and apologized, but Hermione stood there, mouth agape. There was no movement in the Maeve ward, save for the bubbling of half-brewed potions and everyone's eyes hopping from Hermione to Trisha then back again. She wondered why everyone insisted on referring him by that name.

"You aren't allowed to call him that!" Hermione shouted. She threw her clipboard on her desk and stormed out of the Maeve Ward. But then she turned and opened the door again to shout at the patients and Healers alike. "He is not a Death Eater! He made terrible choices, but he was a child during the war just like us! He has become a good person, the sort I need in my life. I like him very much and he is my family. If you want to question my personal choices, fine, but don't do it here."

Hermione turned on her heel and shouted over her shoulder,

"I'm off for the day!"

Her anger didn't settle on her way out of the Maeve Ward. It didn't fade as she stormed out of the Floo and into Malfoy Manor. Her blood was still hot when she found Draco in his study, running fingers through his hair and looking through pieces of parchment. Hermione balled up her Healer robe and angrily threw it onto the nearest chair.

"Bad day at work?" she asked, knowing it couldn’t be much worse than her own. Draco jumped, suprised to see her.

"No, I am just distracted. Scorp cried all bloody morning and I could not figure out why. I tried everything. Extra nappy change, extra bottle, cuddles, setting him down to crawl up the stairs, letting him try to climb the furniture ... None of it worked. I had to give him to my mother because I needed a break." Draco threw his quill on the desk and stood up. He walked over to Hermione, wrapped his arms around her waist, and kissed her forehead.

"This is the first time I've had no idea what to do. I am so lost and I don't want to fail him."

"You're not failing," Hermione insisted. Draco looked like he was about to say something, but something in her expression must have surprised him. He snapped his mouth shut, put his hands on Hermione's shoulders and asked,

"What has you so upset?"

"Someone at work called you a Death Eater and I don't like having to defend my choice to date you. They're so caught up in who you used to be—"

"You were just the same," Draco said. "The first night I was back you were terrified of me. You were afraid because you were skeptical that I had changed. It is the same for them, Hermione, I cannot blame anyone for looking at me that way. I should be in prison and yet you keep coming to my rescue. You do not need to play saviour any time someone judges me for my past. If you and Scorpius are happy to be in my family I do not see how their thoughts should matter to me at all."

"Because it's not just you anymore!" Hermione insisted. "It's me, too. I hate having to justify myself and—"

"Then stop."

"No! I won't let people condemn you for the choices you were forced to make at sixteen! I refused at your trial and I refuse to do it now. If I have forgiven you everyone else should, too."

"Sorry—what?" Draco asked. Something had thrown him. "You forgive me?"

_Oh. That._

"Yes," Hermione smiled up at him. "Of course I forgive you. I forgave you a long time ago; it's hard to carry all that hate, and why do it if it's not justified?"

"Sorry, I just need to ... You did what?" Draco asked like Hermione just told him she freed his house-elves.

"I forgave you," she repeated. Draco still had a vacant expression, like he hadn't quite internalized the words just yet. To emphasize the point, Hermione took hold of his left arm and lightly pressed her lips against the Dark Mark. Draco exhaled like he'd been punched in the stomach. Concerned, Hermione asked, "Are you alright?"

"I felt that," Draco said, surprised. Hermione put her lips to his arm again and his eyes fluttered shut as he let out a soft moan and his fingers formed a fist.

"Hermione, if you do that again I swear to God I will come in my trousers."

"We can't have that, can we?" she teased. "But that ... It feels good?"

Draco swallowed hard, and when he opened his eyes they were nearly black. Some awful part of Hermione loved that Draco Malfoy had given her this much power over him.

"It sure as hell wasn't bad," he said. Except his voice was lower, firm, and Hermione was no longer in charge of the conversation. Draco stepped forward like he was asking for permission to continue and Hermione tilted her head to one side in acquiescence.

Draco pressed his lips against her neck and she tensed.  _Oh, so we're doing this ..._ She didn't want to release control. She was angry and anger was useful, malleable, controllable. She had been angry at Trisha, at Ron, at everyone who looked at her next to Draco and thought they were too good for each other.

Draco twined his fingers in the hair at the nape of Hermione's neck to pull her closer. He kissed a trail down her neck, each one slowly chipping away at her reluctance. Draco nudged her backward a bit and Hermione let out a soft sigh when her back met the study wall beside the door.

"Unbutton your trousers."

It was a husky, lust-fogged request, and Hermione could have refused. Draco had her pretty well pinned with his hands on the wall at either side of her waist. Complying might be a bad idea and Hermione knew it, but that place in her mind seemed so far away and, damn, it had been a long time since she felt anything like this.

She unbuttoned, unzipped, and pulled down her trousers so they were bunched around her knees as she kicked off her trainers. Hermione stepped entirely out of the trousers and she ought to have been embarrassed standing in front of Malfoy in her underwear. Hermione should have been self-conscious, perhaps disgusted that she wanted what Draco was offering. But the only thing Hermione felt was need.

Draco worked his hand beneath her knickers and Hermione instinctively arched back as his fingers grazed her backside. His touch was teasing and lazy, like he got off on her impatience as Hermione trembled with a need for more. Draco released his hold on her head to free both hands and pull down her knickers. Until that point he hadn't seemed interested in exploring any more of Hermione than her neck and bum which was driving her mad. He undid his belt and it clanged loudly when he tossed it to the floor. Hermione's lower half shook as his touch opened her legs ever-so-slightly.

One finger crept between her folds and slowly swiped up from her opening. He pressed the lightest touch to that bundle of nerves on top and Hermione's entire body jolted forward. Draco dipped two fingers inside Hermione and she moaned quietly into his shoulder, embarrassed by how slick she was. Draco had met practically no resistance. Between his fingers slowly working in and out and his lips on her neck, Hermione’s other senses were overwhelmed by the pleasure of experiencing something she hadn’t had in months. His thumb passed over her clit and she quietly cried out, "More!" Followed up with a less demanding, "Please." Draco muttered his approval into the part of her neck that joins to the shoulder. Hermione had lost all sense of time, and when Draco added another finger she accidentally slammed her head back into the wall.

"Careful now," Draco teased, "we haven't gotten to the best part."

"Shut up," Hermione groaned. "I'm close and you're ruining it." She whimpered when Draco removed his hand from her entirely.

"Ruining it, am I?" Hermione opened her eyes and his answering smile was wicked. "I suppose I could leave you to finish alone, then." He made no indication he would actually move away, so Hermione said,

"Please."

She shuddered once all three fingers were inside her again, and Draco rubbed the pad of one finger against the spongy part that caused small bursts of light to explode behind her eyes. His free hand was in her hair again; he grabbed hold a few centimetres away from the scalp and tugged as he pressed his thumb against her clit.

"Oh, God, yes," was all Hermione could say as the familiar falling sensation overtook her.

The corner of Draco's mouth twitched up but he withheld any snide remarks as Hermione beared down against his hand. She felt how much he was enjoying this, or at least his dick rubbing at her thigh was a good indication. She grabbed at his jumper to steady herself as her breaths slowed. He rubbed circles against her clit and watched her face go slack before she mumbled more of,

"Faster ..." and other instructions repeatedly until the words themselves lost all meaning.

Hermione clenched around Draco’s fingers and she held herself up by grabbing onto his arm. She couldn't remember the last time her fall into ecstasy was that intense. Tremors rocked her body as she fucked Draco's fingers, then the final wave of her orgasm hit and propelled her the slightest bit forward. Draco held Hermione against his chest and continued the little circles with his thumb until Hermione ground out,

"Don't move."

She finally sighed against Draco and nodded for him to remove his fingers. The emptiness returned but Hermione was, much to her surprise, not ashamed. They looked at each other for a moment before Draco glanced downward and laughed.

"I haven't finished in my pants since I was about fourteen."

Then there was a knock at the door beside them. They gave each other a half-second once-over: Draco's hair stuck up in random directions and some of his release was drying on the hem of his jumper, clearly unable to answer the door. His cheeks were pink and he looked thoroughly debauched as he tucked himself back into his pants. Hermione grabbed her trousers and wand off the floor as Draco grabbed her discarded knickers. Hermione placed a hand on his head to cast a Disillusionment Charm before smoothing down her hair. She could see the faint outline of Draco going to hide beneath his desk as she haphazardly pulled on her trousers. She buttoned them but didn't have time for the zipper because that was the precise moment the door opened to reveal the very last person she wanted to see.

"Lady Malfoy!" Hermione said with false cheeriness. Narcissa held Scorpius against her shoulder as he gnawed on one of the toys from his bin. Hermione went to grab him but Lady Malfoy shifted away and sniffed likes she smelled something unpleasant.

"Miss Granger, have you seen my son?" she asked, immediately suspicious. "What are you doing home early? And in Draco's study?"

"Draco was just here," Hermione said. "I came home early, bad day at work, and he said he wanted to find Scorpius. He's looking for you!"

"Oh," Narcissa said. The lie came so smoothly it surprised even Hermione. Then Narcissa sniffed again and something behind Hermione caught her attention. Recognition dawned on Narcissa's face and she rolled her eyes. Hermione turned around to see Draco's belt lying on the floor. She closed her eyes and rested her head against the doorframe.

_Caught._

"Miss Granger," Narcissa said, staring at the desk like she knew Draco was there, "when you see my son please tell him I figured out what has made my grandson so unhappy and that nothing is wrong with him at all. In fact, Scorpius has his first tooth."

Hermione sighed in relief. She hadn't been given much time to worry, but seeing Scorp and knowing he was well eased the burden on her soul. However, Lady Malfoy wasn't finished.

"I will care for Scorpius until dinner is ready. Clean yourselves up, you two smell of sex and it will put me off the food."

She turned around and walked back down the hall, leaving a completely mortified Hermione in her wake. Draco undid the Disillusionment charm and had vanished all the remnants of their activity on his jumper. He coughed awkwardly but Hermione wasn’t in the mood to have a conversation just then.

“Sorry about that,” he said, running his fingers through his hair. “Not the, um, that, but the ... My mother, I mean,” he stammered. Hermione rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, trying to shield herself from everything that just happened. The silence couldn’t have been any more awkward. “Scorp is okay, though, and that’s what matters,” Draco said, resolute.

“I can’t believe I forgot about him,” Hermione admitted. “You said he was upset and I still forgot about him the minute you touched me. Merlin, who’s the failed parent now?”

Draco laughed. When Hermione didn’t look up he realized,

“Oh, you were serious. Okay, it is perfectly acceptable to take ten minutes out of the day to have sex. I say ten minutes, it was hardly that. First time with you and I could barely hold out; next time will be better.”

“Next time?!” Hermione asked. “Next time? Your mother just walked in on us shagging and you’re thinking about next time?! I am mortified! Do you understand—she probably thinks I’m a slag, completely unworthy of being your girlfriend, violating whatever stupid Pureblood norms—”

“Hermione,” Draco replied, exasperated, “the only person who wants us to be together more than my mother is your mother.”

“What does that matter? I’m so embarrassed, oh, God, and I forgot about Scorp and the whole ward is probably upset with me ...”

“Hermione, I do not understand being upset about my mother walking in. Of all the things my family has to be ashamed of, sex is not one of them. I promise you, the only thing my mother will be upset about was that I failed to get us to the bedroom.”

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?!”

“Maybe?” Draco said. “All I know is that if you are thinking about Scorpius’s problems while we have sex, then I am not doing a good job of it. You defended me to your coworkers which was noble and stupid. Typical Gryffindor. You know what your problem is, Granger?”

“What?” she snapped.

“You think too much,” Draco said.

“No such thing, Malfoy,” Hermione insisted. She turned to leave and repeated, “No such thing.”


	20. Christmas Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This family dinner goes about as well as you'd expect. (Hugs, shouting, and sealed with a kiss.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Susanna for beta-ing this chapter.
> 
> 11/30/2018: Minor changes made to the text to improve narrative flow.

Hermione and Draco stood outside Harry’s front door, neither of them quite ready to knock.

Draco’s rationale for attending was, “I’ve been through worse.” Then again, they had all been through worse than a slightly-awkward dinner party. Still, hesitance ran its course through both of them. Waiting behind that door were all the Weasleys who, no matter what they said, still didn’t understand Hermione’s decision to leave Ron. Much less leave Ron and end up with Draco Malfoy.

_At least I’ve always got Harry._

Scorpius pulled on the shoulder of Hermione’s coat. She saw his breath come out in little white puffs and knew they needed to get him inside before he caught a cold. Draco had a white-knuckled grip on the bottle of wine they brought as a gift and stared at the door handle like it might well burst into flame the moment it touched his fingers. Hermione nudged him with her shoulder and Draco hesitantly knocked on the door. Ginny opened it a couple seconds later, all smiles. She said greeted Hermione with a one-armed hug and gave Scorpius a kiss on the head. She held the door open for them to enter and shouted into the living area,

“Oi! Hermione’s here and she brought Malfoys!”

Harry’s house wasn’t small. It was perfectly comfortable for his four-person family but a bit cramped for a Weasley-style dinner party. The first thing Hermione noticed was Dean Thomas on the floor of the living area surrounded by seven kids. Blaise leaned against a wall with his arms crossed, watching his husband try and fail to win a tickle war. When he caught sight of Draco he exhaled, “Oh, thank God.”

Harry came over and extended his hand to Draco, who took it with a neutral, “Potter.” He gave Harry the wine and Ginny hugged him once his hands were free. He patted her on the back and greeted her with a slightly-pleased, “Other Potter.” They were gestured further into the room and Scorpius finally noticed there were other people to play with. He held an arm out and squeaked,

“Yee!”

Draco rolled his eyes and messed up Scorp’s hair.

“You are a little attention whore, Scorpius Malfoy,” he teased.

“Just like his father used to be,” Hermione quipped as she handed Scorp to Dean. Draco stole a quick kiss when she stood back up.

“I still am, a bit,” he admitted with a smile.

“Still the nastiest thing I’ve ever seen my whole life,” Hermione heard from behind her. She turned to hug George Weasley who proceeded to admit, “I won a load of Galleons off you, though, so I’ll shut up about it.”

Angelina hugged Hermione as George and Draco nodded to each other in greeting. Audrey and Percy were next, followed by Bill and Fleur, all of whom elected to ignore Draco entirely. Hermione liked Audrey, but never quite knew what to make of her. It took someone very refined to put up with Percy but she had a wicked sense of humour that occasionally slipped out. Fleur complimented Hermione on her dress just as, out of nowhere, a human blur crashed into Draco.

“Cousin!” Draco shouted, picking Teddy up and hugging the child to his chest before setting him back down on the ground.

“I missed you!” Teddy said. “Grandmother didn’t say you were back! Did you bring me a present from America?”

“Of course I brought you a present! I missed you too! Merlin’s toenail, Teddy, you must have grown a full head’s height since I saw you last. I love the purple hair, too. Did you learn any new tricks while I was away?”

“Grandma helped me turn into a duck!”

“Now that, I must see. Another time, though. Teddy, can I tell you something?”

He nodded.

“I have a son now,” Draco said, pointing toward Scorpius.

Teddy squinted his eyes and his face squished in on itself a bit. His eyes turned grey, his hair turned light blond, and his cheeks hollowed out. Teddy insisted,

“I can be one of you, too!”

Draco pretended to appraise him, “Hmm … The hair is spot-on. Eyes are good, cheekbones are excellent, but your nose is too round.”

“Noses are hard,” Teddy whined.

“You will get there,” Draco said. He patted Teddy on the shoulder, put him down, and said, “Go show Scorpius. He will love it.”

As Teddy ran off, Hermione was bewildered. Little Lupin was always hesitant to use his power, yet he had no shame to morph in front of Draco. When she said as much, Harry laughed.

“Malfoy is his second-cousin and I wouldn’t deprive Teddy of his family. Hermione, did you think Gin and I had Malfoy ‘round the house for fun?”

As Hermione had found herself saying all too often lately, “I didn’t think about that.”

Ginny led them outside to a massive dining table in the backyard. It was shrouded by a warming charm as snow continued to fall and lightly coat the top of the fence. It disappeared a metre or so above the table and someone, probably Jay, had made a lopsided snowman near the kids’ table.

Hermione saw Alicia and the world stopped moving. She was much heavier than Hermione remembered. Her face was rounder and there were dark circles beneath her eyes that bore a sharp resemblance to the ones Hermione saw in the mirror six months earlier. But Alicia looked happy and, as her friend, that was all Hermione really wanted. Any resentment or nostalgia she might have had dissipated and Hermione just felt like an idiot. She walked briskly over, practically jogged and pulled Alicia into the tightest hug she could manage.

“It’s so good to see you!” Alicia rested her forehead on Hermione’s shoulder.

“I’m so sorry I was distant,” Hermione said. “I was confused. A complete arse.”

“No, I understand, and I was so afraid you’d hate me.”

“Never!” Hermione insisted.

“Hey, ‘mione,” Ron said, appearing at Alicia’s side. Hermione threw herself into Ron and hugged him around the middle. He laughed a bit awkwardly, but a laugh nonetheless. He picked her up for a moment and set her back down before saying,

“It is good to see you.”

Hermione pressed her cheek to his chest and sighed.

“Please don’t punch my boyfriend this time.”

She felt Ron’s full-body eye roll. He patted her on the back and mumbled, “Fine. But I reserve the right to throw vegetables at his head.”

“You’re such a prat,” she smiled and pulled back. “But I am happy to see you.”

“Well, I’m seeing a lot less of you than I did last week,” Ron teased. Hermione smacked his arm.

“I looked pretty damn good, Ron Weasley.”

“Ravishing, I would say,” Draco said from behind her. Hermione jumped in surprise as Draco wrapped his arms around her waist. He kissed her cheek and lingered longer than necessary so Ron looked away. Alicia looked between them and said,

“The two of you together is the strangest thing I’ve seen in my life.”

“My boys once flew a car all the way to Surrey to rescue Harry from a dismal summer, so I’ve seen weirder,” Molly Weasley said. Hermione yelped and pulled her into a hug as well.

“Merlin, I missed all of you so much! Being away from you was so stupid. So unbelievably stupid.”

“Well, we could have done a bit better for you, dear,” Mrs. Weasley said, squeezing tightly as though it could make up for all the hugs they’d missed in the past eighteen months. Molly Weasley’s hair had streaks of grey and her frown lines were more pronounced than Hermione remembered, but she was still like a second mother. Mr. Weasley came to hug her as well before everyone took their seats. The kids were shuttled over to a smaller table nearby and Hermione began rattling off their names.

She pointed to the beautiful blond child, obviously part-Veela, and revealed, “That’s Victoire, Bill and Fleur’s oldest.”

“Ah, so that is Victoire. Teddy likes her,” Draco said, offhand. Teddy had made sure to get a seat next to Victoire, who was petting his lilac hair. Draco said, “My guess is that purple is her favourite colour.”

“Next to her is her sister, Dominique,” Hermione added. “The redhead on her left is Molls—Molly—Audrey and Percy’s daughter. The ginger boy there is Freddie, George and Angelina’s son. If you’ve visited Harry, you know Jay over there and Al is here at our table.”

Draco shook his head.

“Other Potter was still pregnant when I left,” he revealed.

“Oh,” Hermione said. “Albus Severus is Harry’s second child.”

Draco laughed and tried to cover it up with a cough.

“You must be joking!”

“That’s why we call him Al,” Hermione whispered.

The sixteen of them fell into their places around the dining table as George and Angelina brought out the first plates of food. Dean sat at the end of the table with a high chair on either side of him: Scorpius to his right and Jay to his left.

Alicia leaned forward and said, “Wow, that is definitely Draco Malfoy’s child!”

“Is his hair even lighter now?” Harry asked. Hermione nodded in reply.

“He has two teeth, as well! I think the worst thing about this phase is that he tries to climb things. He’s a great crawler, though.”

“Tries to climb everything,” Draco added. “Yesterday I caught him trying to lift himself up onto a bookshelf!”

“That has to be Hermione’s influence,” Ginny insisted with a smile. Draco agreed and the conversation petered off into awkward whispers for a few minutes. Hermione found something comfortable in the scraping of forks on plates, the slow buildup of snow around them, and Draco’s knee leaning against her own. It was also nice not to sit across from Lady Narcissa and her semi-permanent expression of disapproval. Scorpius enjoyed the attention as well, smiling at everyone he could make eye contact with.

Eventually Arthur Weasley had enough. He sighed and gestured with his fork to Hermione and Draco.

“How did this happen?” he asked, no judgement in his tone. Hermione let out a long breath and let her shoulders drop. She filled them in on Scorpius’s nameless hours, her decision to keep him, and about life in Malfoy Manor. There was a course change somewhere in there and Hermione dug happily into her mashed potatoes.

“All of that is great, Hermione,” Alicia said, “but it doesn’t mean you need to date him. I think the question everyone has is … Why?”

Draco squinted like he was trying to solve a complex Arithmancy problem.

“Do you think she is dating me for convenience?!” He laughed. “I cannot think of anyone more inconvenient for Hermione to fancy. She suffered through a ball at the manor for me. Not to mention the week of work she missed because our faces were plastered on a magazine cover, oh, and she still gets lost in my home though she’s lived there two months.”

“I do not get lost,” Hermione mumbled, though she knew it was a lie.

“Then her ex-fiancé turned up at our party and ruined the whole thing.”

“Wouldn’t have ruined it if you weren’t such a bloody prick,” Ron said through a mouthful of food.

“Right, you insulted me, my girlfriend, and my son, but I am the arsehole. Your circular logic is remarkable, Weasley.”

“Am I just supposed to let go of the fact that you bullied us for six bloody years and attacked all three of us at one point or another—“

“During those six years Granger punched me in the face and Potter ripped my chest open!”

“I didn’t know what the spell was going to do!” Harry insisted.

“You should thank him for being unsuccessful,” Ron said.

“I wasn’t unsuccessful!” Harry interjected.

“And Granger got it worse from me than either of you, so if she can forgive me perhaps you should reevaluate your perspective on the situation,” Draco snapped.

“Just because Hermione forgave you for being a Death Eater doesn’t mean Harry and I have to do the same!” Ron shouted.

“Ronald!” Hermione shouted as Draco rolled his eyes.

“I am starting to see why she hates that so much. If you think the Dark Lord actually considered me part of his ranks—“

“He gave you the Mark!” Ron insisted.

“So he could track me and use me as blackmail against my parents!” Draco shouted. “I failed to kill Dumbledore and I failed to turn you three over to the Dark Lord when I should have. I was never a true Death Eater and, if you asked the Dark Lord, his favourite adjectives for me were ‘useless,’ ‘pathetic,’ and every variant of the word ‘gay’ available to the English language.”

“Is that supposed to make us feel sorry for you?” Ron asked.

“Of course not,” Draco insisted, “but I think it is self-righteous of you to overlook the fact that I was a child soldier, too. I was just born on the wrong side of the war.”

“I’m really tearing up over here, Malfoy,” Ron said facetiously.

Hermione’s grip tightened on her wand below the table.

“I never expected empathy from you Weasley, since you have the emotional capacity of a Cornish Pixie!”

“Look, if one of us is a fairy, Malfoy, it sure as hell isn’t me.”

Hermione thought Blaise would react first. Perhaps he’d pull a Draco and lunge at Ron over the table. Maybe he’d draw his wand and threaten Ron. Maybe he’d even act on it. Hermione was not prepared to see Dean Thomas stand up so quickly his chair toppled over and point his wand at Ron.

“Take. It. Back.” Dean said it through gritted teeth. Ron had regretted it as soon as he said it, that much was clear. His eyes went wide and the silence around the table even had the kids staring at them with confusion on their faces. As though every one of them was thinking, _Who would ever make Uncle Dean angry?_

“I … I didn’t mean—“

“If there weren’t children here, I would have hexed you already,” Dean said. Ron’s brow furrowed and he looked around the table.

“I am sorry, I didn’t mean it. I just … I think you’re overreacting.”

“OVERREACTING?!” Dean shouted. The kids were staring openly at that point and Scorpius scrunched his face up in confusion. Dean stuffed his wand in his pocket and closed his eyes as though counting backwards from five before continuing. “You have no idea what it took for Blaise and me to get here, the sacrifices I had to make. And you have the bollocks to sit there and tell me I’m bloody well overreacting?!”

“It was a bad choice of words, Dean, I am sorry,” Ron said. Blaise appeared satiated and took Dean’s hand.

“He apologized, now sit down,” Blaise whispered.

“No, Blaise,” Dean said, not moving, “I don’t think I will because Ron doesn’t mean it.”

“I do—“ Ron insisted, but was cut off.

“Oh, your apology to me is sincere, I believe that,” Dean said. “But you won’t say it to Blaise, or look Draco in the eyes and apologize. You’re fine with me being gay because you know me and you like me, yet you will use it as a mark against people you don’t like. I will not let my husband be insulted, Ron, just because we don’t look like you and Alicia or Angie and George. I know you hate Draco and you hate seeing him with Hermione, but you don’t get to take it out on me and Blaise.”

“Zabini, I am sorry, that was the wrong thing to say,” Ron said. He looked at Blaise and said, “I apologize. I don’t think that I just …” He sighed heavily. “Dean, Zabini, I am sorry. I wasn’t thinking—“

“Obviously,” Blaise said bitterly.

“—but ‘mione, it’s Malfoy! You left me for Malfoy, how am I supposed to accept that?”

“I left you for myself, Ronald,” Hermione said. “I moved on. I finally feel like I can be part of your lives again in a way I couldn’t without him. I needed loads of help with Scorp before Draco came back. From Harry, Dean, Blaise, Ginny, my parents, Romilda and Lady Malfoy … That is Scorp’s family. I want my family, all of you, to be his family, too.”

“Right you are, Hermione!” Mr. Weasley said. The rest of them nodded and Ron eventually slumped backward into his chair.

“Well, Malfoy,” Audrey said from the opposite end of the table, “is this as bad as you thought it would be?”

Draco shrugged.

“Our dinner guests during the war were more along the lines of Fenrir Greyback, and I will take a dozen Weasleys over him any day.”

“Good answer,” Molly chimed in. Dean wrinkled his nose a few moments later. He scooped Albus out of the high chair and said,

“Nappy change—be right back!”

Blaise was smiling like a total loon as Dean walked away.

“Careful, Zabini,” Angelina said, “you’re about to drool all over your carrots.”

Blaise shook himself out of his dazed reverie, but the ends of his mouth were still pulled the slightest bit upward. He made a few half-hearted attempts to stab a carrot with his fork.

“God, he’s great, isn’t he?” Blaise asked no one in particular. “We have been married six weeks and I almost believe I dreamt the whole thing.”

“Are you joking? I spent five hours decorating for your impromptu wedding! Being yelled at by Narcissa Malfoy and listening to Lee Jordan whine about Romilda. You are definitely married, that I can vouch for,” Ginny said.

“Yeah,” Blaise sighed. “I am a bit worried about his Christmas present, though. It is a tad much.”

When he didn’t elaborate, George chimed in.

“Zabini, you can either tell us now, or we’ll work it out of you once Dean gets back to the table and ruin the surprise.”

“Fine,” Blaise said, unable to stop smiling. “The first time we visited Hermione, Dean mentioned he enjoyed the idea of living in a Muggle neighborhood where his family could visit. Dean moved out of his flat the day after we got married and I think my place is not home enough for him. Dean’s family is here so I could never ask him to move to Italy. I did the only thing I could do: I bought a house.”

“You did what?!” Hermione squealed in excitement. She smacked Draco’s arm because _Blaise bought a house!_

“I bought a house,” Blaise repeated. “I never thought I would stay in England, but I couldn’t deny Dean anything. He wants a child, so my Christmas present to him is our new house with a yard and that stupid Muggle thing with the football matches. A place where we can have the kind of family Dean wants.”

“Angie, just so you know, I didn’t buy you another house for Christmas,” George teased.

“All I want is that new broom paste Dean made and some chocolate. Oi, Freddie!” Angelina leaned back and shouted toward the kids table. Fred popped his head up from his plate and she asked, “What do you want for Christmas?”

Freddie thought for a moment before shouting, “Chocolate!”

Angelina shrugged and said, “That’s my boy!”

And dinner went fairly smooth after that. The Weasleys warmed slightly to Draco’s presence as both he and Ron kept their mouths shut the rest of the meal. He said “thank you,” answered all the questions lobbed his way, and chuckled at appropriate intervals. But Hermione didn’t fall for that pretense because she heard the unmistakable popping of Draco’s fingers below the table.

Once they stood to leave, Draco nodded and shook hands as was appropriate. Hermione hugged everyone again and Harry affectionately patted her on the back.

“No matter how many times I see it, you holding a baby Malfoy still confuses me. But he’s grown since I last saw him and you are doing great with this parenting thing. You really are, Hermione.”

“Thanks, Harry,” she replied. “I was so worried because, you know, he isn’t mine. But he is! I just don’t know how to convince everyone else he is my son the way he is Draco’s child.”

“If Scorpius feels like you are his mother, then that’s what you are,” Harry insisted.

Then Hermione saw Bill Weasley shaking Draco’s hand and the world righted itself. Fleur conversed with Draco in rapid French and Bill studied him with a curiosity that wasn’t there before.

_Maybe this can work after all._

Draco came over a few minutes later, Scorpius in tow. He smiled and revealed Fleur was talking to him about Victoire’s little crush on Teddy. Then Ron came up to them and asked,

“Can I talk to you, ‘mione?”

Draco stared at him for a moment before glancing back toward Hermione. She nodded at him and Draco said,

“I will go grab our coats. You have two minutes Weasley, so make it quick.”

Draco left them alone and Ron sighed.

“Do you love him?”

Hermione took a step backward.

“What the hell, Ron?!”

“I want to know, Hermione. You said you moved on and I know I have. Alicia makes me happy and we started the family I wanted. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t still love you and want you to make good choices. Find someone who isn’t going to hurt you.”

“I appreciate your concern, Ronald, but that is none of your business,” Hermione insisted.

“It is!” Ron whispered. “It is because you can’t come to my family dinners with Draco fucking Malfoy unless you do. You can’t ask me to put up with it unless you love him, and I will get there, ‘mione, I promise I will if you need me to.”

Hermione sighed.

“We’ve been trying to sort things out since he got back. I don’t love him right now; I’m afraid to love anyone because I did it so wrong the first time. Draco makes me feel like I can accomplish everything I want. He accepted me as Scorp’s mother, which he had no obligation to do, had every right to throw me out and raise his son alone. I don’t know him well enough to love him yet, but if you’re asking whether I will love him? Whether I can get there eventually? The answer is yes. I think Draco Malfoy will be in my life for a long time.”

“Okay,” Ron nodded. “And you’re sure about this? That he’s changed and doesn’t hate you?”

“Well the sex is good, so—“

“I really did not need to know that,” Ron said, pinching the bridge of his nose. Hermione laughed. “Harry’s a good friend, he’ll Obliviate that out of me.”

“I did miss you,” Hermione admitted. “But now that I have people to depend on who aren’t related to you, I feel like this can work.”

“What can work?” Draco asked, returning in his coat. He’d put Scorpius’s beanie back on and bundled Scorp in his massive winter coat.

“You two not hating each other and allowing me to enjoy these parties in peace,” Hermione said.

Draco laughed and Ron replied, “Not likely.” Hermione rolled her eyes, allowed Draco to help her into her coat, and said good-bye to Ron. She followed Draco out Harry’s front door and stayed by his side as they walked to the gate. Draco turned to Hermione and bent down to kiss her. It wasn’t a prelude to anything more, but it wasn’t chaste, either. He used his free hand to pull her just a bit closer before breaking the kiss.

“Remember how I said you don’t need to play saviour for me?”

“Yes,” Hermione nodded.

“I like it when you do.”


	21. Chapter XXI: Christmas Day

Hermione spent the past three Christmases at St. Mungo’s.

Sometimes people have a little too much Firewhiskey, little children fall off their new broomsticks, or they get a bad case of frostbite. Someone has heal them; hospitals don’t get off days. That was Hermione’s excuse for missing Christmases, anyway, though everyone knew she was just avoiding Ron.

Hermione woke early on Christmas morning. She always had, even as a child. Even when she stayed at Hogwarts and knew the only present waiting for her was a hand-knitted sweater from Mrs. Weasley. Scorp had been completely knackered when they arrived back to Malfoy Manor. Both he and Draco would likely be asleep for another hour. _Like father, like son._ Hermione pulled her hair back and brushed her teeth before heading downstairs alone.

Wandering through Malfoy Manor wasn’t as frightening as it once was. The first time Hermione was there, dragged through the doorway, there had been dozens of portraits on the walls. The occupants shouted filthy names at her and each second brought her closer to what seemed like an inescapable dark, painful end. The curtains had been closed and the house felt more like what Harry must have felt in those rare silent moments of the Triwizard maze: the spirit of Lord Voldemort hanging over everything.

But Lady Malfoy had since opened the manor. The portraits were gone and the curtains were open all the time. It was as though Scorpius’s presence had been the push Narcissa needed to breathe life back into Malfoy Manor and Hermione was almost getting used to it.

She saw light coming from a room near the parlor and peeked in to see Lady Narcissa staring at the mantle above the fireplace. Hermione knocked and waited to be asked in, but that invitation never came. She leaned against the doorframe for several moments to take in the small room. It was in a lesser-traveled part of the manor, much more intimate than any other room she had seen. Family photos lined the walls and a large book sat on a stand in front of the large window.

“I miss my husband,” Lady Malfoy said, and Hermione took it as her cue to enter. As she got closer, Hermione realized Narcissa was looking at a framed picture in the centre of the mantle. Lady Malfoy pulled her closer and sighed heavily, her eyes not moving from her wedding photo. Lucius Malfoy was dancing with his new wife, looking younger and happier than Hermione could have ever imagined. Narcissa was in an elaborate wedding gown that would have rivaled Princess Diana’s in both beauty and opulence. They looked ... Well, they looked like Harry and Ginny had at their wedding: happy and hopeful. Curious about all the possible paths their future could take.

“This was before everything, just as the Dark Lord began amassing all that power. I remember it well; Lucius was the sort of man any young woman would hope to marry. He had all this wealth but he hungered for more than money, he craved a cause. We believed in pureblood supremacy and were willing to fight for it, but on this day none of it mattered because he promised to love me until the day he died. Promised to love me more than anything.”

“Did he?” Hermione asked.

“Yes,” Narcissa replied. “Yes, he did. Everything he did for the Dark Lord was to make this a world he thought was better for me and for Draco. Misguided, he was, but by the time we realized we had lost favour it was too late. The Dark Lord tortured my son here in our home. Not even Bella could talk him out of it, Lucius offered himself, but ...” she trailed off.

“What?” Hermione asked. “What happened?”

Narcissa shook her head.

“The Dark Lord nearly killed my son. It was Christmas, ten years ago today. Draco had failed yet again to kill Albus Dumbledore. I can still see the fear in Bella’s eyes as the Dark Lord dragged Draco into the drawing room. I hear his screams in my nightmares. He never told me what happened, but it was more than the Cruciatus Curse, of that I am certain. My son was always very emotive, very expressive. When he left the room all that life had been burned out of him.”

Hermione thought back to their sixth year and remembered the weight loss. Draco stopped putting product in his hair, stopped showing up to classes, stopped doing everything she ever associated with Draco Malfoy. Lady Narcissa pressed her fingertips to the edge of the frame in front of them.

“We did not know what was to come,” Narcissa said. “I like to think back on this Lucius, the one who believed we could make the best Malfoy family in history. Draco never forgave Lucius. It was his father’s loyalty to the Dark Lord which brought him to that day ten years ago. His conversion to the new ways was quick and very, very difficult. He had a falling out with his father, which I can now connect to Blaise Zabini. I always knew there was something between them I just ...” Narcissa trailed off with a heavy sigh and threw her hands in the air before letting them slap loudly against her hips.

“My greatest shame is that my son never told me. Draco knew the one thing Lucius would find reprehensible was to fully embrace the new ways, so he did to spite him. My husband died without having spoken to Draco in months, as my son was living with the young Mr. Nott at the time. My family was torn apart and I had not the faintest idea what to do.”

Hermione said nothing. Parenting after the fact was hardly helpful and she was not sad Lucius Malfoy was dead. Had she not thought it would be in poor taste, Hermione would have thrown a party to honour the day he died. The world was a better place, Draco was a better person for it.

“You would not be here if Lucius was still alive,” Narcissa admitted. “Neither would Draco, and that is the crux of it all. If we had known back then ... If we had known ...”

They went silent for a minute. _If they had known the Dark Lord would tear their family apart … But it wasn’t the Dark Lord. It was Draco’s parents, both of them, that made those decisions out of hatred. They are just as much to blame as Voldemort because he would have been powerless without his followers._

Finally, Hermione said,

“I know you don’t believe Voldemort was wrong. You never converted to the new ways, not really. And you aren’t ever going to like me, are you?”

Narcissa sighed again, almost as though something was physically weighing on her.

“Miss Granger, there is nothing in this world I love more than I love my son. There is nothing I would not do to protect him. I looked Lord Voldemort in the eyes and lied so I could get back to him. I made Severus take an Unbreakable Vow. I have done more to protect my son than you could ever hope to know. I watched Draco lose his will to live and for the first time in ten years I believe he may eventually have the same feeling Lucius and I had on this day,” she said as she pointed to the photo in front of them. “And it is because of you.”

_Oh._

“While I find your blood status disgusting and your manners sorely lacking, I care about my son and my grandson. You make them happy, and Draco is happier than I have ever seen him. I am too old for hate, Miss Granger,” Narcissa said. “If I stand in opposition to my son’s affection for you then I may never see him with a family.”

“So you’ll accept me, but you are never going to think I’m good enough for him,” Hermione reasoned.

Narcissa took Hermione’s hand and led her to the far wall away from the window. She pointed to a photo of what must have been six-year-old Draco zooming around on a broomstick. He had the same shiny blond hair and excited grey eyes as Scorpius. He passed by the camera and smiled broadly, unashamed and toothily at whomever was holding it.

“This was his first real ride on a broomstick. Before then he was never allowed over the tree line. I see this smile when he looks at Scorpius, and I see it when he looks at you.”

Hermione nervously picked at her fingernails because that really was the whole difference in pre-trial Malfoy and post-trial Draco. He smiled like he meant it, like he couldn’t control his laughter or hide his amusement. That smile was so wide his Cupid’s bow disappeared entirely. Hermione loved knowing she made him uncontrollably happy, but how deep could her attachment to Draco Malfoy run?

“Jack and I discussed what it means for you to enter our world and for Draco to become part of yours. Abigail and I have a nice friendship but, forgive me for saying it aloud, your father is much more perceptive. Welcoming you into my household has brightened the world for me considerably and I am grateful for that.”

“I just wanted my son to be where he belongs,” Hermione replied.

“That Patil girl nearly had it right in her article when she said Draco hoped you could be for him what Dean is for Blaise, except she had it backwards: you are Blaise. Dean and my son look at the two of you and see someone impossibly good for them. Draco sees you as too intelligent, too courageous to fall in love with someone like him.”

“I’m not in love with him,” Hermione insisted.

“You will be,” Narcissa countered.

“How can you be sure of that?” Hermione asked, angry at Narcissa’s presumption. “You don’t know me well enough to know what I will and will not do.”

“I know my son, Miss Granger, and anyone who can put aside their prejudice to see him for the person he is loves him. Do you understand the vitriol to which he is treated any time he steps outside this house? People are frightened of him, disappointed in him, or believe they are better than him. Most people are all three. It is not just your side of the war that abandoned him, Miss Granger, it was mine, too. Somehow, you are the only one who saw him well enough to show him any sort of decency.”

“I don’t understand,” Hermione said. “I thought you hated me, I thought you wanted Draco to have someone better than me.”

“There is no one better.”

Hermione blinked once at the photo. She blinked again then turned to face Narcissa Malfoy.

_What in the name of Merlin’s saggy—_

“The weeks you have been here are the best I have had in years. I got to welcome my son home with a new family. I get to hold my grandson every day, a privilege Lucius would not have had if he was alive. I see my son treating this house like a home for the first time since the war. Yes, Miss Granger, I see a place for you in our lives.”

“That is kind of you to say,” Hermione said, at a loss for any other words. She stared at the floor for a moment to allow Narcissa’s admission to sink in.

“Do not take that as acceptance, Miss Granger,” Narcissa cautioned. “I told you my son will not survive another heartbreak. I worry you mean more to Draco than he means to you and I cannot protect him from that. No matter how much I try, I fear what will become of him if he loses you.”

**.oOo.**

It seemed every day brought Hermione to a new room in Malfoy Manor. In yet another of the day’s discoveries, Christmas was held in a small room with large glass walls that gave it the appearance of being part of the gardens. Scorpius had one hand on the glass, crawling alongside a peacock. There was a Christmas tree that stood four metres tall in the centre of the space, topped with a star that was tipped in Phoenix Flint and cast beams of light on the walls to create small rainbows as the sun rose overhead.

Blaise and Dean arrived around nine with a plate of freshly-baked cinnamon buns that seemed to finally drag Draco downstairs. Hermione took the opportunity to sneak back into her bedroom and ensure Draco’s present was still snug beneath her bed. She changed into a grey sweater dress just before her parents showed up around eleven with what must have been a dozen gifts.

“I went a tad overboard, you know, it’s our grandson’s first Christmas!” Mrs. Granger said.

By the time the sun was directly overhead, there must have been thirty presents scattered around the base of the tree. Dean did most of the distributing. Scorpius got a new blanket, which Hermione knew he wouldn’t use but accepted anyway. ( _Scorp loves his green blanket dearly! I wonder when he’ll grow out of that.)_ He also received a few new toys, a baby-sized football from Dean, and more Dr. Seuss books. (Hermione caught Blaise rolling his eyes at those.)

The Grangers gave lady Narcissa a hand-drawn star chart and an old Muggle book on the history of astronomy. She was absolutely delighted and it was the first time Hermione ever saw Narcissa Malfoy smile. In return, she gifted them a plant.

“Niffler’s Fancy,” she revealed. When their confused expressions didn’t change, Narcissa added, “For your office. It is rare even in our world and none of your patients will have seen anything like it.”

Dean gave Blaise an old Italian cookbook, which he admitted was just as much a present for himself as it was for his husband. Blaise was beyond himself with excitement as he flipped through the pages.

“You are, without a doubt, the best husband ever,” he said. “Your present will have to wait, though, it was a bit big for me to wrap.”

He chanced a glance at Mrs. Granger who winked back at him.

_What the hell is that about?_

She looked over at Draco who appeared to be wondering the same thing. But then, much to his surprise, Mr. Granger directed Dean to one of the few remaining presents. It was long and thin, wrapped in plain red paper with a green bow on top. Dean looked at the tag and his eyebrows shot upward.

“Oh,” he said. “It’s, um, Draco it’s for you.”

Draco took the box carefully, skeptically, and stared at it for a moment. Hermione looked back at her parents, who appeared as nervous as Draco was confused. They never mentioned getting a present for Draco, but why would they be nervous about it? Surely it wouldn’t explode.

_Right?_

Draco tore off the wrapping paper and pulled his gift from within the box. It was a long and thin box, made of dark wood with gold hinges on the back. Draco opened his mouth to say something, but couldn’t find any words. He opened it to reveal a red satin lining and swallowed thickly, blinking rapidly as if to force away tears.

“Your mother said you got a new wand awhile ago and didn’t have a box for it, so we found a box,” Hermione’s father revealed.

Draco choked out a laugh.

“You do not just find one of these boxes,” he said.

“Well we asked what family would get you for Christmas,” Mrs. Granger said, “and this might have been suggested by someone who knows you fairly well.”

“Two someones, actually,” Mr. Granger added. “Since they said the same thing, we figured we couldn’t very well get you anything else.”

“My, um, my father gave me my first one,” Draco stammered. “Except on the back just below the hinges it said …” Draco turned the box around and let out an unintended squeak. Mrs. Granger stood up and motioned for Draco to give her a hug. He obliged and wrapped his arms tightly around her shoulders. Mr. Granger followed with a handshake and a pat on the shoulder.

When he said, “Happy Christmas, Lord Malfoy,” Hermione thought Draco might actually cry. He didn’t, he managed to hold off, but something about the box resonated with him. Hermione wanted to ask what was on the box, but didn’t. The Grangers then handed Blaise a gift, which he opened to reveal a wide array of embroidery thread. He hugged Mrs. Granger as well while Mr. Granger said,

“Dean’s gift is waiting for him back at your place.”

_Your place. Not your flat, but your place. They know? They got Dean a gift?_

Dean looked just as confused, but didn’t press the issue. He picked up the last square box below the tree, checked the tag, and handed it to Hermione. She took it, shook it, and immediately looked up at her parents.

“You didn’t,” she said with a smile. Her parents smiled back.

“We did! With some help, of course,” Mr. Granger said. Hermione quickly tore off the paper and popped off the top of the box. She pulled out a first edition of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ and delicately pressed her fingertips to the cover.

“This is amazing! I know exactly where it will go on my shelf. Mum, Dad, thank you. I … I honestly don’t know what to say.”

“We went three whole Christmases without you, Hermione,” Mr. Granger said. “We are not going to let that happen again and we are so grateful you came to us to help with Scorpius. We know how big a step that was for you, how much trust you have in us now … And it was my fault, what I said when you left Ron was wrong. You did things your own way and you ended up with a nice little family. A good one, one more suited to you, I think. So every time you pick up this book I just want you to remember how important you are to us.”

Everyone looked around at the empty space below the tree, then back to Draco and Hermione.

“Did you not get each other anything?” Dean asked. “Not that you would, of course, you’ve only been dating a few weeks. But … Nothing?”

Draco ran a hand through his hair and Hermione awkwardly tapped the toe of her shoe on the ground.

“We agreed to give each other our presents later,” Draco said.

“Oh, it is that sort of gift, is it?” Blaise teased. Hermione rolled her eyes. “On that note, I think it’s time I take Dean to see his present.”

As they left the room for the Floo, Mrs. Granger shouted after them.

“Dean, dear, let us know how you like it!”

He nodded awkwardly and smiled, as Blaise half-dragged him away. Lady Malfoy passed Scorpius off to Mr. Granger and suggested they all go look at embarrassing photos of Draco in the family room.

“Miss Granger, may I have a moment?” Narcissa asked. Hermione nodded and once everyone was out of earshot, Narcissa pulled out a small green package that had been hidden between the lower branches of the tree.

“I have done many things to make sure my grandson has the best possible life. I failed in that regard with my son and I will not make the same mistake. He needs to have a family, a group of friends, enough people around him to make sure he will always have someone to depend on. I never want him to worry about being alone. Draco was alone for so long, was alone before you came along. All I want for Scorpius is love. To prove that, I made a visit to an old rival.”

Confused, Hermione hesitantly opened the box. There was a card that read simply, “Your son is our son. Your family is our family.” Underneath red tissue paper there was a tiny knitted green sweater embroidered with a golden “S”. Hermione gasped and started to cry. She pulled Lady Malfoy into a hug, formalities be damned. Narcissa awkwardly patted Hermione on the back, not sure what to do with her arms.

“This means more to me than you can know,” Hermione said, “and I want to make this my home, too.”

**.oOo.**

Once Scorpius was asleep, Draco followed Hermione to her room. Hermione was the one who insisted they open presents alone because, well, she was self-conscious about her gift. It wasn’t anything extravagant, it wasn’t particularly valuable, it was the sort of present she’d get a boyfriend. Draco had readily agreed, though, so Hermione had lower expectations.

“I want to go first,” Draco said, practically vibrating with anticipation. “May I go first?”

“Um, of course?” Hermione said. “Go right ahead.”

“Great. Tippy!” Draco called.

He handed her a small bundle of lilac fabric as Hermione’s assigned house-elf appeared. Hermione jumped, still not quite used to the loud cracking noise. Tippy wrung her hands nervously, as though worried she had done something wrong.

“Does Miss Minnie need assistance?” Tippy asked. Hermione shook her head.

“Tippy, Hermione has a present for you. Well, we have present for you,” Draco amended. He nodded for Hermione to hand the bundle to Tippy. Hermione wondered what was inside, but as Tippy unwound the twine it became clear there was nothing inside the fabric. Instead, it was revealed to be an elf-sized dress the same colour as her tea cozy. Tippy gasped and her eyes were nearly as wide as her ears were tall.

“Miss Minnie and Lord Malfoy has given Tippy clothes! Tippy is free!”

Hermione stepped backward, stunned.

_Did Draco just … He just freed an elf for me! I didn’t ask for this, I didn’t tell him … He just did this on his own. For me._

“Thank you, Miss Minnie!” Tippy shouted and hugged Hermione’s leg. “I is so grateful!”

“Yes, Tippy, you have served Hermione well,” Draco said. Hermione couldn’t find the words for her shock. She couldn’t feel her fingertips and her legs collapsed as she fell backward to sit on the end of her bed. “Should you choose to stay here in the manor, you will be compensated. Should you choose, I also believe Hogwarts has openings and I would gladly recommend you.”

“Lord Malfoy, you is so kind!” Tippy said, crying. “Miss Minnie, you is good for him, I know it. I will stay here to help Miss Minnie, to help with baby Scorpius. Thank you, Miss Minnie, thank you!” Tippy finally let go of Hermione’s leg to Apparate back to the elves’ quarters.

Draco smiled, pleased with himself.

“You freed my elf,” Hermione said out loud like she still couldn’t believe it.

“Hermione, I am not an idiot,” Draco said. “I know what you believe. I will not free all of my elves, but I know you will feel better if yours is free. I … I cannot think of many ways to make this feel like home for you, the way it will be for me and for our son. However, it is my dream that eventually you will want to stay. Happy Christmas,” he said with shy smile.

Hermione let her head fall into her hands. She heard Draco shuffle his feet. He asked,

“Did I do something wrong?”

Hermione shook her head.

“No, no, it’s just … I avoided all my family and friends for years. Avoided getting too close and now, today, I’ve seen everything I was missing. I just can’t believe you, of all people, brought it back to me. I am overwhelmed, honestly. I never knew I could have this.”

“Neither did I,” Draco replied.

Hermione bent over the side of her bed and pulled out Draco’s present. She wrapped it in red paper with little golden Snitches which Draco smiled at.

“You really didn’t need to get me anything. After everything I owe you—“

“You owe me nothing,” Hermione insisted.

Draco gingerly unwrapped the box and let the scraps of paper fall to the carpet. He popped the lid off the top and stared at his gift for several moments. He sat the box on the floor and pulled his sweater over his head. Hermione stared at the momentary gap between the top of his jeans and the hem of his undershirt. Then Draco pulled on the hoodie Hermione purchased for him, emblazoned with a giant Yankees logo on the front.

He didn’t say anything, just stared at the ends of the sleeves.

“You talk about it so much that I thought maybe you’d like something to remind you of your time in America. The good parts, anyway.” When Draco still didn’t speak, she continued to fill the silence. “My mum rang their store, bloody shipping cost more than the jumper, but they got it here in time. It’s a bit lame, you know, but I wanted you to think of me every time you wear it, so when you’re comfortable you think of me.”

Draco pulled Hermione into a standing position and kissed her. His palms were on her cheeks and Hermione pulled him closer by his belt loops. When they broke apart, Draco rested his forehead against Hermione’s and said,

“I can’t remember the last time someone did something nice for me just because they wanted to. I do not deserve you, Hermione, I don’t.”

“Perhaps not,” she smiled, “but you have me anyway. Happy Christmas, Malfoy.”

“Happy Christmas, Granger.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As much as it pains me, Draco Malfoy would absolutely be a Yankees fan. I hope to have a chapter up next Friday but the All Star Game is here and, well, I'm not optimistic. Definitely will have another one up by July 20th. You don't get to see Dean's reaction to his present(s), but I did write it out for you in ["You Picked a Good One."](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15029291) It's there if you want to know what the Grangers did for him, but not included here if you don't. My little Blaise/Dean heart just couldn't resist.


	22. Chapter XXII: Notre Fils

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why a wand box? And what's the deal with that Time-Turner?

“What’s so special about the box?”

Hermione spent the whole night wondering and halfway through the next morning she couldn’t take it any longer. Draco laughed at the question.

“It has been bothering you this whole time, hasn’t it? Not knowing.”

“Yes!” Hermione admitted, curling her knees into her chest. She nodded to the pieces of parchment Draco was shuffling around on his desk. “What are you doing?”

He held a hand over the first pile and said, “These are letters to tenants.” He held his hand over the pile to his left and said, “These are properties I am working to sell, then the one in the middle here is what I am working on now. Replying to Theo’s request for a playdate here at the manor.”

“I see where your priorities are,” Hermione teased. Draco laughed lightly to himself.

“What can I say? I miss the twins. I treated them like my own kids because I ...” Draco trailed off and awkwardly cleared his throat. “I never thought I would have my own. Anyway, you were asking about the box?”

“Yes, the box,” Hermione agreed, obliging his change of subject.

“Wand boxes are sort of the traditional gift for wealthier families to children on their thirteenth birthday. My father gave me a beautiful box, black satin lined, made of what seemed like the darkest walnut wood in the world. Even then I knew he considered me a disappointment of a son, but I thought the gift meant there was a chance for me to overcome that.”

“My parents wouldn’t know any of that,” Hermione said. “They must have asked your mother.”

“And Blaise, I imagine,” Draco added. “He knows why I needed a new one.”

“Why did you?”

Draco swallowed thickly and went back to scribbling on his parchment. Without looking up, he said,

“Do you know how much trouble my family was in after the war?”

“Financially you were fine; I never thought about much else,” Hermione said.

“The day you all were here in the manor, the day you were...” Draco shook his head as if to get rid of a particular train of thought. “Potter took my wand. I never got it back, you know, I was using my mother’s wand afterward. If I was convicted at the trial they were going to snap my wand, which was my mother’s wand.”

 “Oh,” Hermione squeaked.

“No one would have made her another one; people would not touch us. Those that did business with us did so because they had to, because they rented buildings from my father. Had I been sent to prison my mother would have been without most magic. Now you understand just how much my family is indebted to you and Potter.”

“We just thought we were doing the right thing,” Hermione said.

“You did, and I will spend the rest of my life proving you did,” Draco promised, still scribbling. “But the box itself said, just below the hinges, _LA FAMILLE AVANT TOUT_. It means to put family above all else. Something my father never actually put into practice, not when it came to me,” he said bitterly.

“So my parents got you a new wand box. I can see why you would appreciate it, but you had such an immediate reaction,” Hermione said. “Why?”

“Because I like your parents. I like them as grandparents for my son, and trust me when I say they are far better than the alternative. Astoria’s parents are … Well, you met Daphne, you can imagine. Your father does not hate me, which is more than I ever could have asked for. Abigail is sweet and generous, and I think Blaise considers her a surrogate mother. They have unconditional love for Scorpius, my son, to whom they share no blood relation. All of this in a world that casts them as inferior. That is a sort of selflessness I will never understand.”

“Okay ...” Hermione pressed him to continue. After signing his name on the letter to Theo, Draco looked up and said,

“When they gave me the box it felt like a second chance with them, too, one I do not intend to waste. You forgave me, so have your parents, and I was moved by that. Now I have a chance at giving Scorp a real family, Hermione, and that is not something Blaise or Astoria or anyone else could have done for me. Your parents accepted me as part of their family, and I know this because on the back of the box they gave me it says, ‘A GIFT FOR OUR SON.’”

**.oOo.**

Hermione was lounging in the parlor around noon, contemplating those words. “A gift for our son.” What were her parents expecting? They had been officially together less than a month but it felt like much longer. In a way, though, Hermione understood her parents’ attachment to Draco. He was the father of their grandchild and they wanted to be part of his life, too. Still, though, she wondered if everyone was expecting a certain outcome …

That’s when green flames shot up from the fireplace.

_We aren’t expecting visitors._

Harry stepped out of the Floo, exhausted to a point Hermione hadn’t seen for years. His eyes were hooded and sleepy, and he was still wearing his Christmas sweater as he leaned against one of the chairs in the parlor. Hermione shouted for Draco, who walked through the door moments later.

“Malfoy,” Harry said, sounding just tired as he looked, “I just got back from the Ministry. We have a problem.”

Draco narrowed his eyes at Harry and stared at him for a few seconds before casting a Silencing Charm at the door.

“What happened to it?”

“To what?” Hermione asked. “What are you talking about?”

Harry sighed heavily.

“Security during the holiday season is limited, we’re already short-staffed. Last night two people broke into the Department of Mysteries, said they were friends of yours, Malfoy. In the whole of the department they only went after one thing!” Harry shouted.

Draco threw his hands in the air and shouted back, “I told you it wasn’t safe there! You knew it wasn’t safe; you bloody well broke into the Department of Mysteries at fifteen!”

“But they knew you! The staffer out front said they pointed their wands at him and asked if he was a pureblood. When he said yes, they Stunned him but left him alive. Sound familiar?” Harry asked. Draco deflated and ran a hand through his hair.

“What were their names?” Draco asked, though Hermione could tell he already knew the answer.

“Queenie Picquery and Jason Graves,” Harry answered. Draco closed his eyes and sighed.

“I should have known they would not give up so easily.”

“So you do know them?” Hermione asked. Draco pinched the bridge of his nose.

“They are the leaders of the Revivalists and I was able to leave New York because they believed they lost the Time-Turner. A spy stole it before they could and they have yet to realize I was that spy. They thought I left because the Time-Turner was lost.”

“How could they know where it was?” Harry asked, almost an accusation.

“Dunno, Potter, one of your Unspeakables come down with a sudden urge to brag?” Draco insinuated.

“No, no ... There must have been another way. Could they have tracked it back to the Ministry?”

“You need to speak to MACUSA, Potter. They are monitoring the Revivalists to prevent them from travelling abroad. Jace is similar to Aunt Bella in many ways, very loyal and devoted to the cause. It’s Queenie you have to worry about. She is wicked smart, not Hermione-brilliant, but still not to be trifled with. If she gets the Time-Turner, there is no telling how they will change the past. If anyone knew how to track it, she would.”

“Malfoy, they have the Time-Turner! There is no time for me to lecture MACUSA. We have to focus on getting it back right now. We need to dispatch all our Aurors to New York and we need you to—“

“Potter—“

“—go after them. Find out what they plan to do with it. If they—”

“Potter, they do not have the Time-Turner!”

“What d’you mean?” Harry asked. He huffed angrily and collapsed into a chair. “I’m too tired to handle much more of this, so if you could explain quickly I’d appreciate it.”

Draco turned to Hermione, took one of her hands in his own, and pulled her toward the door.

“Do you remember all those weeks ago when I said I had something to tell you?” He said over his shoulder. “I let it go for a bit because I hoped it would never matter.”

“What did you do?” Hermione asked hesitantly.

“Potter,” he shouted backward, “follow me!”

They headed to their wing of the manor. Hermione bristled because they’d never had one of her friends over to see this part of her new life. Harry especially, though, Hermione wasn’t sure she was ready to expose how much Malfoy Manor had started to feel like home.

When Draco opened the door to his study he gestured for Harry and Hermione to precede him inside. He shut the door behind them, locked and Silenced it before heading to his desk.

“Jace is one of the worst people I have ever met, which says a lot considering the company my family kept,” Draco said, scrambling for something inside his desk. “He is cunning and absolutely mad with power. He refused to listen any time I suggested resurrecting the Dark Lord could lead to something uncontrollable. He wants to rule over Muggles and knows Voldemort had the power to do it. There is no reasoning with him.”

Draco pulled a dagger from one of his desk drawers and Hermione gasped as he sliced open his left palm. Harry winced.

“Malfoys have always been obsessed with blood,” Draco said. He walked toward the fireplace and held his hand over the mantle. Blood flowed from his hand like a river and landed in stark contrast against the white marble. “Pure blood does not mean superior. _Our_ blood, _Malfoy_ blood is everything.”

Before Hermione could ask what he meant she was cut off by a loud scratching sound from within the wall, like a rock grinding against a larger stone. A white marble Dragon head appeared in the fireplace as though it had been hiding in the wall all along. It opened its mouth and on its proffered tongue was a small silver Time-Turner. Draco pulled it out by the chain as blood continued to drip from the cut on his hand.

“Potter, you didn’t think I would truly give something this powerful over to the Ministry, did you?” he finally asked. “I was a bit offended, it’s like you hardly know me at all.”

“Are you fucking joking?!” Harry shouted, sounding more alive than he had at any point since his arrival. Hermione thought his eyes may very well pop right out of his head. “You gave me a fake? I have an entire team preparing to be sent off to America! We’ve been scrambling all bloody night and all bloody morning when you’ve had it here the entire time!”

“If they knew it was here, they would come after it,” Draco said. “I had to give you a fake so no one would look for the real one. It is a damn good thing I did, apparently.”

Hermione balled her hands into fists and spoke quietly.

“You didn’t think I had the right to know about this?”

“I did!” Draco insisted. He took a step toward her but immediately backtracked once he saw her expression. “I tried to tell you but we never had the right moment.”

“Is there a right moment?” Hermione asked, her voice rising. “Is there a good moment to tell me you have something many Dark sympathizers are after, hidden in your home?! Is there a good moment to tell me you have a potentially Dark weapon hidden in a room ACROSS THE HALL FROM OUR SON?!” she shouted.

“Well when I brought it here I didn’t know I had a son waiting for me!” Draco shouted back.

Hermione shook with the intensity of her anger. No one had ever put Scorpius in danger before. Her chest was tight, like there was little room for her to breathe at all, but it wasn’t a panic attack. No, those were familiar. This was a different, uncontrollable rage that had her seeing red.

“This is still the safest place for it,” Draco insisted. “Only someone with Malfoy blood can retrieve it. They would have to kill me before I gave it over.”

“If Hermione doesn’t get to you first,” Harry quipped.

“You’re an idiot,” Hermione said. “You, Draco Malfoy, are a colossal idiot! ‘Someone with Malfoy blood?’ Even if they kill you, you aren’t the only person with Malfoy blood anymore, Draco!”

His face went blank as he processed what she said.

“They will use Scorpius to get it and your effort will have been for nothing! And what of me, then? After I’ve lost my boyfriend and my son to these people, only to have them go back in time and change everything Harry, Ron, and I did. All that we suffered for will be erased. Everything I have now will be gone!”

“That won’t happen!” Draco insisted, sounding like a petulant child. “It can’t!”

“It might. The obvious answer is to destroy it,” Harry said.

Hermione shouted “Of course!” at the same moment Draco shouted, “Absolutely not!” They looked at each other, exhausted.

“Get rid of it and they have no reason to come after Scorpius,” Hermione said. Draco shook his head.

“I need it,” he admitted.

“For what?”

Draco didn’t answer. Instead, walked around Hermione to place the Time-Turner on his desk. The silver links sparkled in the light, except where they were stained with red. Draco grabbed his wand and resealed the cut on his hand, in no hurry to answer Hermione’s question. Harry looked between the two of them and said,

“Erm, I’m going back to the Ministry to tell them we don’t have to send our best over to America to avert a global crisis. Thank God. Then I’m going to take the longest nap of my life. Once you two settle whatever the hell you have going on, let me know and remember we’re bringing Al over next week. I’m fine, by the way, thanks for asking.”

Harry turned on his heel and walked out of the study. Hermione didn’t care, this was more important than Harry having a shitty night. Hermione would say all of this in front of him, too, if he wished.

“What possible reason could you have for keeping this thing around?” she asked.

“I am terrified,” Draco admitted. “I know the sort of person I am, Hermione, and I am going to do something to muck this up.”

“Muck what up?”

“My family!” Draco said. “Everything that you built, that you have given me. Something will happen that I cannot control. What if Scorp gets sick? We do not know how Astoria’s illness will affect him. What if my mother is in danger and I can’t get to her in time? What if you ... If you ...” he trailed off.

“What if I what?!” Hermione asked, annoyed.

“What if you die?!” Draco shouted back.

_Oh._

He slammed a fist against the desk and fell back into his chair as though he hadn’t meant for that to slip out. He took a sharp breath in through his nose and said,

“I couldn’t bear it if you died and I wasn’t there to protect you, alright? You or Scorpius. If there is a chance I could go back and stop it from happening I would take it in an instant. I am afraid of losing my family and this is my way out.”

“It’s dangerous!” Hermione said. “Draco, I’m not going to die and Scorpius is not going to die. I appreciate that you’re worried about us, but this is Darkness you’re playing with.”

“It is worth the risk, Hermione, I need a way to fix my mistakes.”

“Mistakes you aren’t going to make!” Hermione insisted.

“You cannot know that!” Draco replied. “I have done so much wrong in my life—”

“And look where it led you!” Hermione said. “You repented, you’ve done good, and you were forgiven. I know you don’t want to be the person you were.”

Draco leaned forward and braced himself against the edge of his desk. He looked down at the Time-Turner and there were none of his usual tells so Hermione was at a loss as to what he was thinking. They never had a real row before, not as a couple. The ticking of a clock rang loudly in Hermione’s ears as the rest of the room was completely still. Draco continued to stare at the Time-Turner as if trying to count every grain of sand.

“I am scared, Hermione,” he finally said. He breathed in once, then out, before saying, “I am terrified of losing you. You are the only person in ten years to give me any kind of hope for a good future and losing you--” He cut himself off like the thought alone was too much to bear.

“Draco,” Hermione said. “Draco, look at me!”

He forced himself to stand and face her, hands on his hips, waiting to be scolded.

“When have I ever needed you to protect me?” she asked.

“Never,” Draco admitted. “But I have seen what is out there, Hermione. I know the sort of people who want to hurt me, and they will use you and Scorpius to do it. Having a Time-Turner this powerful, I could alter anything I needed. Were someone to hurt you I could stop them from being born.”

“At what cost?” Hermione asked.

“I will do anything to keep my son safe,” Draco said. “To keep you safe.”

“It’s dangerous magic and you of all people should know better!” Hermione shook her head. “How many scars will you wear before you understand this isn’t just about what you want?!”

“How do you think I became like this, Hermione?!” Draco shouted the question. “It was because I wasn’t protected by the people who claimed to love me! I will not be that sort of father!”

“Then you will listen when I tell you what we need you to do.”

“I know better!” Draco insisted, slamming his fist against the desk again. “I know what I need to do!”

“Oh, you know better than me now?” Hermione taunted him.

“That is not what I meant--”

“The very first night you came back, you said your greatest fear was becoming like your father. You are selfish enough to put us in danger because of what you want! Because of what you believe is best regardless of what anyone else says. Isn’t that exactly what your father did?”

Draco bit down on his lip and looked out the window, chastened. Hermione shifted anxiously on her feet; Draco could have ended this already. He could easily destroy the Time-Turner so what did it mean that he hadn’t yet? He said,

“Scorp smiles all the time. It is my favourite thing about him, actually. That smile is the only part of Astoria I have left.” He paused and looked back toward her. “How do you do it, Hermione? How do you love someone this much and not use everything in your power to protect them?”

“Just because you think you’re doing this out of love, doesn’t make it right,” she said. Draco clenched his teeth, confused.

“Before you I never looked forward. If Astoria had survived and we were to raise Scorpius together, I would not be as sure of myself as a father. And now when I look forward all I can see is you. Scorp will learn to walk, talk, to fly on a broom, and I want to share every single one of those moments with you. I cannot do that if you are dead.”

“Why do you not believe I can take care of myself?!” Hermione yelled. “Malfoy, I have gotten through twenty-seven goddamn years and a war without your protection!”

“I need a way to fix the bad things that happen to us,” Draco insisted quietly.

“You aren’t listening! This isn’t protection!” Hermione shouted, gesturing at the accursed necklace.

Draco looked back at the fireplace over Hermione’s shoulder. He looked like sixteen-year-old Malfoy just then: scared and uncertain. Hermione studied him, tried to read him. Draco had dropped his shoulders and he was silent, searching for an answer one way or another. Hermione walked to the edge of the desk so she and Draco were only about a metre apart.

Hermione tilted her chin up to look him in the eyes and said, “Draco Malfoy, you understand me.”

He nodded once, slowly. Hermione glanced down and pressed her fingers against the Dark Mark.

“But do you trust me?” she asked.

Draco searched Hermione’s eyes for confirmation. He understood what she was asking, that much was clear. He had the little eleven between his eyes again, the furrowed brow and distrustful expression he must have gotten from his father. He lifted his left hand and Hermione, anticipating that god-awful cracking sound, wrapped her fingers around his fist.

He cocked an eyebrow at her so she let go. Draco picked up the Time-Turner and it disappeared entirely inside his hand. Hermione’s heart fell into her stomach.

_Did he misunderstand? Does he simply not care?_

Before she could be too disappointed, the Time-Turner disintegrated between Draco’s fingers. Hermione watched the small particles fall onto his letter to Theo and cursed herself for having doubted Draco at all. He conjured a small, nondescript box and carefully slid the silver dust inside. He closed the lid and slid it across the desk for Hermione to take.

“I hope you trust me, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate Chapter Title: "There's More Than One Way to Say 'I Love You'"


	23. Party (NOT) in the USA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New Year's Eve and a realization twenty-three chapters in the making. (Featuring the worst cliffhanger yet.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JusticeForYadi complained about my super boring chapter titles, so we're back to terrible song references. Thanks to Susanna for beta-ing this chapter!

George Weasley had a not-so-secret passion for fireworks and the Malfoys had a gigantic garden. It was a perfect match for New Year’s Eve.

If sixteen-year-old Hermione could have seen her life on New Year’s Eve eleven years later, she would have blacked out after five seconds. Their get-together had quite the guest list, yet Hermione noted there were only two Houses represented. Blaise and Dean were there, but they were family, a constant presence in Malfoy Manor. As Hermione looked around the larger sitting room, she was at a total loss as to how and when these people became her friends. Well, that wasn’t entirely true; it was because of Scorpius. The little boy who wound up on her stoop for no good reason had given Hermione a life she never would have believed.

Hermione sipped her cider and looked around the room. Katie Bell was relaxing in an armchair as Pansy Parkinson smiled down at her, perched on the armrest. Katie wore a hideous red sweater patterned with little snidgets and ornaments that made Hermione smile every time she looked at it. She had a hand on Pansy’s knee with her own legs wrapped underneath her in the chair. Pansy looked happy as she played with the ends of Katie’s hair and laughed at whatever joke Dean had just made.

Hermione turned to her right to see Angelina and Romilda huddled in a corner with Blaise, paying rapt attention as he recounted Dean’s reaction to the house. There were lots of hand gestures and smiles, and Blaise kept sneaking glances at Dean over Angie’s shoulder. Romilda also kept looking at her watch like her carriage would turn into a pumpkin come midnight. Before Hermione could wonder what exactly Romilda would be up to later, she turned her attention to Teddy and Freddie. They were at a table in the middle of the room playing an intense game of wizard’s chess. Teddy’s eyes were squinted in concentration and he didn’t notice Freddie had tied his shoelaces together.

Draco watched as Scorpius crawled on the floor near his feet and the familiar noise of the Floo filtered in through the doorway. Harry and Ginny walked in and Jay was nothing more than a blur as he ran to hug Dean. Ginny had just announced her retirement from the Harpies in the _Prophet_ the day prior. She looked … _Refreshed. Refreshed is the word._ Al pointed to the ground so Ginny set him down. Once he was balanced on both feet he ran over to Scorpius and shouted,

“SCORE-PUSS!”

Draco shifted uncomfortably as one very excited Albus Potter wobbled his way over. Draco watched his son smile at Al and groaned.

”Oh, God, they are going to be friends.”

Harry shrugged and admitted, “I worry about him, but not because he likes your kid. Al’s a bit … antisocial, you know? Nice to see he might want to make a friend.”

“Well Scorp never shuts up so it may be a nice match,” Draco said. “He will reach for a book, cry until we start to read it, then babble his way through the whole thing so he can hardly hear a word we say.”

“You read to him?” Ginny asked.

“All of the time,” Draco admitted. “He loves books; I caught him trying to pull down a copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ the other day.”

“Now that is definitely his Hermione shining through,” Ginny replied. Hermione pulled her into a tight hug and sighed.

“I love having you around so often now,” she admitted. Ginny smiled and patted her on the back.

“I like seeing you, too. We need to have another outing soon, I am in dire need of firewhiske: the preferred drink of the recently unemployed!” she joked.

Harry looked around and asked, “Ron’s not coming?”

“Not invited,” Hermione snapped. She took a moment to clear her throat and continued. “He called Draco a Death Eater and I warned him about that. I told him not to and, still, he values his hatred of Draco more than our friendship and he needs time to get over it. I doubt his baby would have appreciated the loud firework display, anyhow.” She turned to Draco. “Should I go up and get your mother?”

He nodded.

“Yes, Weasley said we have about ten minutes.”

Hermione had learned the way to Lady Malfoy’s study, though, confident she wouldn’t get lost any longer. The rest of the manor was also beginning to map itself out in her mind. Hermione trudged up the stairs, not anxious to break up the meeting nearly ten years in the making. Narcissa invited Andromeda of her own accord and not at Draco’s prompting as Hermione originally presumed. They hadn’t spoken since the war ended, according to Draco.

The door was open a crack so Hermione heard their conversation as she approached.

_“Is Hermione Granger the reason you converted, Cissy?”_

_“Converted is such a tame word for what I have done. I lost all credibility in pureblood society! I thought I would be heartbroken by it, but it is quite the opposite. I wanted to hate her at first, but Merlin’s beard, Andi, she knew that boy was a Malfoy the moment she saw him! She still decided to care for him after all we had done. I knew she would put him in safe hands, but never for a moment thought they would be her own.”_

_“What of Draco? Does she love him?”_

Hermione heard Narcissa sigh deeply and at length. She was rooted to the floor a metre outside their door, anxious to hear the answer.

_“I see that she wants to. Draco has been entranced by her in one way or another since he was thirteen. When he left for America, Blaise and I wondered whether he would come back. The day after he returned he told me were it not for Scorpius, he would have gone back. He had permission from MACUSA but took one look at Hermione Granger and realized he could not leave.”_

_“But his son—“_

_“He would have taken Scorpius with him. This girl is the only reason my family is still here. Miss Granger has forced me to admit I was wrong, and I worry one day she will wake up and realize no matter how much Draco loves her, he is not worth the hell our world will put her through for being with him.”_

_“Nymphadora was the same way. Remus hated himself, thought he was being selfish when all he was doing was putting them both through pain neither one of them deserved. Listen, Cissy, you don’t fall in love with a Werewolf if you are not sure he is worth it, and you don’t fall in love with Draco Malfoy unless you are certain he is worth it.”_

Hermione came back to herself and knocked on the door.

“We’re, um, uh—ten minutes,” she said before practically running down the stairs. When Draco spotted her, he came over to give her a kiss on the cheek.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, always too perceptive. Hermione shook her head.

“Nothing. Nothing, I just … Were you planning to go back to America?” Hermione asked, unable to keep her curiosity at bay. Draco stepped away from her, stunned. She asked again, “Before you knew about Scorpius, were you planning to move to America?”

“OI! It’s nearly time for the show!” shouted Angelina. Draco, visibly grateful for an excuse to end the conversation, grabbed Scorpius off the ground and followed everyone out into the gardens where they’d set up a row of chairs. Katie Bell was on the far end with Pansy in her lap. Pansy’s left sleeve bunched up and Hermione noticed a few tattoos peeking out the end. Lady Malfoy and Andromeda sat next to them, followed by Angelina then Freddie and so on.

Draco had Scorpius balanced on his leg. They agreed to do fireworks around nine-thirty because the kids couldn’t stay up much later, and Scorp was close to dozing off. His eyes were half-closed and shortly before George signaled he was about to begin, Scorpius let out a long, bean-shaped yawn. The first firework startled him and he nervously smacked his father’s thigh. Draco pulled him closer so Scorp’s back pressed against his stomach. By the fourth crack of the sparkling lights Scorpius was watching with wide eyes.  

The first firework was a simple green burst followed by four red bursts in rapid succession. Then a single firework was launched into the air and exploded into a giant Christmas tree. It continued to hang in the air as George launched another firework. It cracked to reveal a star that left a trail of sparkling dust as it journeyed to sit atop the tree.

They all clapped as it dissipated. Eight fireworks then cracked open in succession, with loud bangs and various brown sparks which settled in to form eight reindeer. They galloped through the air and disappeared beyond the hedge. More fireworks popped open to reveal giant mistletoe (Pansy used that as an excuse to plant a kiss on Katie.) and poinsettias. They oohed and aahed as another round of fireworks cracked open to reveal several clouds that rained snowflakes.

“Hermione,” Draco whispered. She pretended not to hear, so he repeated, “Hermione. Hermione look!”

She hesitantly turned toward him and he nodded to their son. Hermione looked at Scorpius, staring awestruck at the brilliant lights flashing in front of him. Lights forming shapes with depth he couldn’t see and meaning he was too young to understand. Scorpius held a hand out toward them as little blue sparks flew from his fingertips. Hermione couldn’t fight back a smile.

She glanced up at Draco who had a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, too, only he wasn’t looking at Scorpius. Hermione resolutely turned back to the fireworks show where the snow had finished falling. She didn’t watch the rest. Well, her eyes were trained in that direction but she wasn’t seeing anything. All the lights were nothing more than blurs until the giant Santa head at the finish. Hermione said hurried goodbyes and headed upstairs, leaving Draco confused in her wake.

**.oOo.**

Hermione and Draco skirted around each other for days. Draco had Scorp while Hermione was at work, and Hermione had him from her return until bed. The handoffs were awkward and stilted, since Draco didn’t want to answer the question and Hermione was afraid of what he might say.

_If Draco only stayed because of me, does that mean he will leave if we don’t work out? Would he leave Scorpius? Or, worse, would he take our son with him?_

By the time Saturday rolled around the tension in the manor was almost unbearable. Hermione hadn’t been to dinner since Monday. Draco had shut the door between his bedroom and the nursery for the first time. Hermione had put Scorp down for his afternoon nap a half hour before Draco took a step into her bedroom. She didn’t bother moving. Draco walked sheepishly over to the side of her bed and nodded at the empty space to her left.

“Do you mind?”

Hermione shook her head. She stared at the ceiling and felt Draco lie down next to her, their arms less than a hand’s width apart. They stayed like that for a few minutes before Draco finally answered.

“Yes.”

“You wanted to move to America?” Hermione confirmed.

“Yes.”

“And I am the reason you stayed.”

“Scorpius is the reason I stayed,” Draco insisted. He rolled onto his side and rested his head against his fist. “I made the decision to remain here, so why does it matter?”

“What was in America that you wanted to go back to?” Hermione asked. “Was it that Queenie person?”

“Careful, Granger, or I will start to think you’re jealous,” he teased. Hermione only clenched her jaw in response, knowing full well whatever words would come out of her mouth would not be helpful.

“Queenie is a friend; I lived with her and Jace in New York. She is a Legillimens and he is a Metamorphmagus so do not even try to imagine the absolute hell that was. They broke up for a bit and she wanted to make him jealous, so that is why we …” He trailed off with a pinched, unpleasant look on his face.

Draco started twirling one of Hermione’s curls around his finger.

“There was nothing there, my choice was about getting away from everything here. In New York I am just another person. They know less about what I did, at any rate. Since I am staying here, if I was any sort of decent I would tell you to get as far away from me as you can. No matter how well-thought-of or famous you are of your own, the moment you kissed me you were tainted in the eyes of most everyone else. But I am not decent, so here we are.”

He pulled on the curl and let it spring back into place.

“I worry that everyone else expects our relationship to progress in a certain way, to a certain point,” Hermione admitted. “And I am scared I won’t want it.”

Draco pulled on another curl, unbothered.

“Our parents want us to get married, I know. We have been together all of three weeks, living together about ten, and I still have trouble believing you like me at all.”

“Me too,” Hermione said.

“I suppose I see the future in terms of Scorpius, not you. I wish I could tell you how unprepared I was for all this. After my father died I understood the Malfoy line would end with me. Who the hell would want to marry me, anyway? I figured at least in America I could keep going to baseball games and pretend to be happy. Maybe I would eventually convince myself that I was.”

“You would have left your mother?” Hermione asked.

“Well she and my father did a damn good job of leaving me after I was outed,” Draco said bitterly. “Regardless, you are here and you promised me you wouldn’t allow me to become like my father. Scorp has a family, something he cannot get in America. That is why I stayed and why I will stay even when you come to your senses and dump my arse,” he teased.

Hermione turned to look at him and was surprised to see a soft smile on his face.

“You don’t believe I could ever love you,” she said.

“I do not believe anyone can,” Draco amended. He sighed heavily and rolled once again on to his back. “It is my biggest fear when it comes to Scorpius. How could he love me when I have given him nothing but a cursed name and a tainted fortune?”

“I caught you reading him Dr. Seuss the other day,” Hermione revealed with a smile. Draco rolled his eyes.

“He likes it.”

“And you do what he likes because you are his father and you love him.”

“Of course.”

“And that’s why he’ll love you,” Hermione said.

“You say that but one day someone is going to tell him his father served the Dark Lord. One day someone will tell him his father was the school bully and mercilessly taunted his mother,” Draco said.

“And one day he will ask why he doesn’t look like me,” Hermione added.

Draco closed his eyes and wiped away the watery buildup before he thought Hermione could see. Something still bothered him about Astoria, but Hermione thought better of asking.

“We will answer his questions the best way we know how,” Hermione insisted. “You bullied people because you were an entitled arse and it was wrong. You served Voldemort because you didn’t want to die. He doesn’t look like me because he has two mums: one who gave birth to him and one who is raising him, both of whom love him very much. He is our son, Draco, and he will understand.”

“I hope to God you are right, Granger,” Draco said. Hermione shrugged and rolled over so she was lying on top of him. She gave him a long kiss before pulling back to say,

“I usually am.”

Hermione kissed him again, slowly, as Draco stuffed his hands into her back pockets and rolled his hips. She moaned and he said,

“We do not have time, Hermione.”

“I dunno, you finished pretty quick last time,” she chided softly. Draco laughed and pushed her off.

“I’d only been wanking to fantasies of you for over a decade. Forgive my surprise that the real thing is better than I ever imagined.” Hermione blushed and stood up, nervously fixing her hair where Draco had fussed with it. He laughed and teased her even further. “Just thinking about the way you came apart around my fingers gets me—“

“Enough!” Hermione insisted. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Draco Malfoy.”

“Oh, I think it will get me exactly what I want,” he said, standing up and making his way into Scorp’s nursery. Hermione followed close behind.

“Perhaps ‘what you want’ can happen on a bed next time,” Hermione said. Draco laughed.

“Later, since Scorp is due to wake soon.” Draco looked down fondly at his son, anxiously twirling the mobile above the crib. “I wonder if this is what I looked like when I was a baby.”

“I’m sure,” Hermione said. “He looks like all the photos of you that your mother showed us.”

Draco chuckled.

“But he smiles. Even now, asleep, he smiles. I wonder if before everything … I wonder if I was so happy.”

“Are you happy now?” Hermione tentatively asked.

“As I have ever been,” Draco admitted. “I was just thinking about it because you even gave him my blanket. Did you find it in a closet somewhere?”

Hermione raised an eyebrow and said, “I didn’t give it to him.”

Draco paused and looked up.

“Sorry, what do you mean?”

“You’re talking about the green blanket here?” Hermione asked, pointing to the blanket in the crib.

Draco nodded.

“He came wrapped in it,” she said. Draco looked at her curiously. “Scorp was dropped off wrapped in this blanket with a note, that is why it is his favourite. He never goes anywhere without it. Narcissa never mentioned this is your baby blanket.”

Draco opened his mouth to say something, but closed it. He stared at the wall behind Hermione like pieces of a puzzle were coming together before his eyes. After about ten seconds of silence, Draco started to laugh. A low, deep chuckle that signaled to Hermione something was very, very wrong.

“Draco, what is it?” Hermione asked. He ran his hand through his hair then tapped his fingers against the edge of the crib. Scorp was still sound asleep when Draco said,

“My father told me something once that I never quite understood until now. He said, ‘Draco, your biggest weakness is your inability to see what is right in front of you.’” He laughed sardonically and shrugged. “He was right; I have been so blind.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked.

Draco didn’t answer. Instead, he ran into his bedroom, grabbed his wand, and shouted for Hermione to follow him downstairs. Hermione asked him again,

“Draco, what the bloody hell is wrong? We can’t just leave Scorpius—“

He paused halfway down the steps and turned backward to look up at her. Hermione stalled awkwardly between steps and had a death grip on the handrail. He had that look in his eyes, the same look he had before he punched Ron at the ball. He stuffed his wand in his back pocket and revealed,

“I know who left him at your door.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I stole some plot elements from Cursed Child (the blanket, Theo's Time-Turner) because I like to keep to canon at least a tidbit. This chapter ends on January 6th, 2007, in case you’re trying to keep it straight chronologically.


	24. Always Say Good-Bye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The revelation and the fallout.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter satisfies your curiosity and hits you right in the honey nut feelios. (Chapter takes place entirely on January 6th, 2007.)

“Who?”

Hermione did not get an answer. They hurried down the stairs, Hermione trying to keep up with an increasingly harried Draco. She had little time to be aggravated by his _pop! pop! pop!_ before they passed Lady Malfoy in the dining room. She spotted them and asked,

“Are you going out?’

Draco huffed, “Yes,” while Hermione stopped to answer, “No.” Narcissa frowned as Draco grabbed Hermione’s hand and stormed toward the parlor.

“She is coming,” he insisted.

“Where?” Lady Malfoy asked.

“Out!” Draco shouted angrily over his shoulder.

“Do not take that tone with me, Draco!” Narcissa said, following them into the parlor. “Am I to watch Scorpius while you are away? And for how long?”

Draco reached for the Floo powder but backtracked and ran a hand through his hair.

“Can’t use the Floo, it’s not hooked up yet,” he mumbled.

“Whose Floo?” Hermione asked.

“We’ll have to knock,” he said, as though that was an appropriate answer. Next thing Hermione knew, she was being squeezed through a toothpaste tube and spat out onto a suburban London street. She dropped to a knee and gasped for air as Draco impatiently tapped the toe of his shoe.

Hermione looked around to get her bearings. She saw a familiar gazebo in the distance to her left. She looked up and down the street, recognizing various houses and lawn ornaments she and Scorp strolled past dozens of times during his first few months.

“We’re in Queens Park,” she observed aloud. “Why am I here?”

“For protection,” Draco said. He made for the house in front of them. It was nice, made of tan bricks with white shutters and meticulously-trimmed bushes out front. He opened the gate and Hermione asked,

“Someone in there wants to hurt you?”

Draco shook his head and said, “Not for my protection.”

 _Oh_.

As he lifted his hand to knock on the door, Hermione stood on the step beside him. She ran her hand down his back and let it rest at the top of his jeans.

“Promise me you won’t do anything stupid,” Hermione said. Draco glanced over at her and said,

“Granger, I will never make you a promise I do not intend to keep.”

Hermione let her fingers dip just a little lower against his arse before releasing contact. She was about to ask why they were in her neighborhood when Dean Thomas opened the door.

“What are you two doing here?’ he asked with a smile. “Nice surprise. Just putting the finishing touches on the—“

Dean stopped as Draco barreled past him.

“Is he here?”

Dean hesitated for a moment before his eyes widened in understanding.

_Great, now everyone understands what’s happening but me. Unless ... It can’t be. I wasn’t that blind, was I?_

Dean hurried after Draco so Hermione was left to close the door behind them. She followed the sound of footsteps into a mostly-furnished but not quite finished dining room. There was a wide wooden table in the middle that would comfortably seat eight but had no chairs. The chandelier was hung but not lit. Blaise stood at the far end of the room beneath an antigodlin painting of a fruit bowl. He turned, saw Draco, and managed to say, “Oh God,” before Draco punched him.

Both Hermione and Dean flinched at the sound. Blaise worked his jaw around and leaned his head against the wall. Dean said,

“Alright, he deserved that. Now take a breath, step back, and—“

Draco gripped Blaise’s shoulders and slammed his head back into the wall with such force the fruit painting fell on top of them. Draco kicked it aside and Dean shouted,

“Malfoy, that’s enough! Now take a breath, get your hands off my husband, and we can talk it out like—“

“She was our friend!” Draco shouted, giving no indication he heard Dean at all.

_It was Blaise all along. I should have known, there were so many hints I never wanted to see._

“I know,” Blaise replied softly.

“I am your best friend!” Draco insisted.

“Yes,” Blaise replied, “chiodo scaccia chiodo.”

“Neanche per sogno!” Draco snapped back as they prattled off into what Hermione guessed was an argument best had in Italian. Dean leaned over and asked,

“Don’t suppose you could translate?”

“I could if they were writing angry notes to each other in ancient runes,” she replied. Dean laughed and Hermione asked, “Did you know?”

Dean nodded, shame-faced.

“It’s why we broke up. I thought he’d go to the end of the world for Malfoy, but he’d never do that for—”

“Ne ho fin sopra i capelli!” Blaise shouted. “What did you want me to do?! You had to be in New York! Don’t you think I wanted to go get you? I would have flown across the goddamn Atlantic on a broom if I thought for even a moment it was the right thing to do!”

Draco reached into his back pocket and scanned the floor upon meeting nothing but fabric.

“Where is my wand?” he shouted. It took him mere seconds to figure out what had happened. He turned to Hermione and demanded, “Granger, give me my wand!”

_Oh, we’re back to ‘Granger’ now?_

Hermione pulled her own wand from her back pocket along with Draco’s and held them both to her chest. She shook her head and Draco returned his attention to Blaise, whose shirt was wrinkled and bundled up in Draco’s fists. Hermione saw Blaise’s hand twitch and Dean went rigid beside her.

“Oh, God. Hermione, get back,” Dean said, pushing her toward the doorway. She didn’t heed his suggestion as Blaise said,

“I had no other choice.”

“You could have gotten me!” Draco shouted. “She was our friend and she was carrying my son!”

“I know, Draco, I know!” Blaise insisted, trying desperately to make himself heard through the rage-fueled fog in Draco’s mind. They were in their own little bubble, and Blaise seemed to forget himself, pushing Draco’s hands away from his shoulders. “Do you have any idea how hard it was? I made a vow to protect your son! A vow of the Unbreakable variety, you ungrateful, inconsiderate, nugatory whore! If you had not been so wrapped up in your own misery and self-loathing you might have thought about the consequences of sleeping with Astoria. Instead, you used her and left!”

“Hermione, get back,” Dean repeated, but she stayed rooted to her spot, unable to look away from what looked more like a lover’s quarrel with each passing moment.

“I did not use her!” Draco shouted back. Blaise flinched as Draco hit the wall beside his head. “She was the closest thing I had to you, and I … I couldn’t go to you for that. It would not have been fair to either one of us.”

“So this is my fault, now?” Blaise seethed. “I have been here, supporting you, one step behind you every moment since we met. Dean would never ask me to take an Unbreakable Vow for our child. He knows I would do anything in my power without magic to force me. You have never trusted me all the way, never trusted my judgement—“

“If your judgement was to leave my son on a goddamn doorstep then I’d say I was right!”

Red sparks flew from Blaise’s fingertips as Dean placed himself between Hermione and the rest of the room. Not a half-second later they were thrown off their feet by some sort of explosion. Hermione was tossed a full metre and landed halfway through the doorway, her arms taking the brunt of the impact. Dean landed next to her, groaning because his back took the full hit. She heard the unmistakable thud of Draco landing on the large wooden table and winced. Dean looked over at her and asked,

“Are you okay?”

Hermione had the presence of mind to nod as the ground beneath her stopped shaking. Dean helped her up and she delicately touched the rip in her sweater sleeve. The scrape there was bloody and too deep for _Episkey_ to be effective.

Draco groaned as he lifted himself off the table. He scooted forward until his arse rested on the edge and glared at Blaise. Then he slumped forward to rest his elbows on his knees, too tired to carry on.

Blaise was still flush against the wall and breathing heavily like he hadn’t used that much magic in months. None of them moved for several moments until finally Blaise asked,

“How did you figure me out?”

“The blanket,” Draco answered quietly, suddenly finding his hands very interesting. “It was in the manor and Mother is too proud to ever leave a Malfoy baby on a stoop, let alone with a Muggle-born.”

Hermione knew there was still one piece of the puzzle missing because Blaise bit down on his lower lip to keep from saying something. But she didn’t want to press the issue further, knowing neither one of them would hear her anyway.

“I am sorry,” Blaise said.

“Apology accepted,” Dean replied sardonically from their place by the door. Blaise glanced over and shot him a look that said, _It wasn’t meant for you and I will make this up to you later._

“Why Hermione?” Draco asked. “Was it because of how I ...”

Blaise softened his tone and said, “I promised Astoria I would put him in Granger’s care. We all thought if anyone could find a good family for a Malfoy baby, it would be Hermione. And I did not think you were coming back, Draco. Potter had faith in you, but I felt in my bones that you were going to die over there. Your heart is too good and they should have seen right through you.”

“They never thought I would keep him,” Hermione realized aloud. Dean patted her back reassuringly. She told him, “They picked me because I work at St. Mungo’s and because I’m … me. Not because I was ever supposed to end up keeping him.”

And it hurt a bit, knowing no one ever considered that a possibility.

“Why did you not stay, then?” Draco asked. “Explain the situation, Granger would have—“

“She would have slammed the door in my face! It was not her responsibility to right our wrongs and I never figured out how to convince her. By the time Astoria ...” he trailed off and Draco choked on a sob.

Blaise took a few steps forward and hugged Draco to his chest. He cried,

“God, Blaise, I never even got to say goodbye!”

Blaise shushed him and ran his fingers through Draco’s hair, as though he’d done it a thousand times before. Hermione felt awkward and voyeuristic so she glanced down at the wooden floor whose splinters she would later dig out of her elbow. Somehow, that would hurt even less than watching Draco seek comfort in someone else.

“She knew you would be a good father just like she knew Hermione would take care of Scorp. Astoria always put her faith in the right people.” Blaise paused and added, “She loved that he looks like you.”

Draco wrapped his arms around Blaise’s waist to pull him closer. Blaise perched his chin on the crown of Draco’s head.

_Why has Draco not been like that with me?_

“She would be so happy to see you now, you know. Draco, look at me,” Blaise insisted. When he complied, Hermione felt like her insides had disappeared. Like someone had cleaned her out with an ice cream scoop and left her completely hollow. She didn’t have a name for whatever emotion had taken up residence in her shell.

_Envy. Longing. An incomprehensible sadness._

_Heartbreak._

_That’s the name._

Blaise looked into Draco’s eyes and said, “We are both proud of you. You can hate me if you want, but I did what I had to do. I did what I promised you I would do.”

Draco sniffled and wiped his nose on his sleeve before pushing Blaise away.

“Everyone I love ends up leaving me,” he said. “You, Astoria, my parents ... I am afraid what I have now is just the same.”

_Say my name. Say that you love me. Choose me and Scorpius and we won’t leave. Just say my name._

Blaise understood. He glanced at Hermione for the briefest moment before repeating,

“What you have now?”

“I will disappoint Scorpius, too.”

_Say my name. Say that you love me, too._

He didn’t.

Draco just let it hang out there, an unspoken truth he was too frightened to admit. Or maybe it wasn’t true at all. Perhaps Hermione had misread everything, just as she had done with Ron. Draco liked her because she was the only person who returned his affection, not because there were deeper feelings, not because they connected, just because Hermione had tricked herself into believing Draco could truly desire her. Draco only wanted her because she had learned not to hate him.

_He is closer to Blaise than he will ever be to me._

She didn’t cry. She held back the tears but her face went red and puffy with the effort. She tossed Draco’s wand and it made a high-pitched thunking sound each time it bounced against the wooden floor. It rolled to a stop and Hermione wanted to stomp on it, to make Draco feel equally powerless. Instead, she turned on her heel and ran out to the street. She saw Dean behind her when she flung open the front door and pointed her wand at him. He held up his hands and said,

“Go. I understand, but if you need me to Sidealong I don’t want you to splinch yourself because you’re upset. I have been where you are right now, Hermione.” Her hand wavered, but then Blaise and Draco appeared in the hallway behind Dean and she was hit with another wave of despair. “It hurts, I know.”

Hermione turned her back and stormed away, across the street she knew so well. She heard Draco shouting as he scrambled down the steps.

“Hermione! Hermione, wait!”

He flung open the small gate and Hermione turned to face him. She pulled back her arm then aimed a jinx to the centre of his chest which had him splayed out on the sidewalk moments later. There were so many things Hermione wanted to say, but she didn’t trust her voice to make it through any of them. Draco stood up awkwardly and ran toward her, but not quick enough to catch her before she Disapparated.

. **oOo**.

Ginny opened the door, saw Hermione’s face and asked, “What’s wrong?”

Hermione shook her head and Ginny moved aside knowing she wasn’t the person Hermione had come to see. Al and Jay were playing in the living area but Hermione found Harry in the kitchen. She threw her arms around his shoulders and cried. Harry returned her hug and asked,

“What did he do?”

Hermione didn’t answer and Harry didn’t force one out of her. They stood there for a couple minutes, Hermione’s tears and snot staining the shoulder of Harry’s shirt until there was another knock at the front door. Harry walked Hermione over to the couch and pressed a finger to his lips. She nodded and heard when Ginny opened the door.

“Yes?”

“Is Hermione here?” she heard Draco ask. Bastard probably looked immaculate, like he hadn’t just discovered his best friend left his only child on someone’s doorstep. None of the red-rimmed eyes and hiccups Hermione was trying to quiet. Without skipping a beat, Ginny said,

“No, we aren’t supposed to have another night out ‘til next week. Why? Do I have a reason to cover you in bat bogeys?”

“Dammit!” Draco shouted, and Hermione didn’t need him in her line of sight to know he was running his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Dean, you said she would be here!”

“I said she might be here,” Dean corrected. He raised his voice just the slightest bit and said, “If Hermione comes by, let her know Blaise has gone to Modena for the week and she is welcome over to my place at any time.”

They Disapparated and Hermione let out a loud sob. Ginny reentered the room and said,

“Dean knows. He won’t tell Malfoy, but he knows you’re safe.”

Jay slowly walked into the room and asked, “Mummy, why Hermione sad?”

“Because Hermione has a stupid boyfriend,” Ginny replied.

“Oh,” Jay said. He walked over to Hermione and gave her a pat on the knee, since that was about as high as he could reach. “Mummy says love like falling off a broom ... makes you dizzy and stupid. You boyfriend fell off’a broom?”

Hermione laughed as Ginny scooped Jay into her arms and mumbled, “I think Hermione’s boyfriend hit his head really hard when he was little.”

Harry sat on the couch next to Hermione and she rested her head on his shoulder. He didn’t ask questions, didn’t tell her to leave, just put an arm around her and waited.

“Blaise left Scorp at my door,” she finally said. Harry nodded like he suspected as much. “Draco found out and,” she paused to take a deep breath, “they had an argument. But at the end Draco sought comfort in him, not me. Blaise held him in a way he’s never let me. Draco looked at Blaise like he’s never going to look at me, and—“

“It’s okay, Hermione,” Harry said. He nodded for Ginny to leave and she reluctantly left for the kitchen where she could pretend not to eavesdrop.

“It’s not okay!” Hermione wiped away the tears tracking down her face, pooling on her chin. “I thought maybe that he was broken enough to love me, too. Maybe we wanted the same things, he said we wanted the same things ... But he won’t ever love me. Not like that.”

“Hermione,” Harry sighed heavily. He picked up her elbow to examine it and frowned.

“And he talks about sex all the time!” Hermione said between hiccups. “So bloody cavalier about it, shagging Blaise, shagging that Queenie bint in New York— _hup!—_ We’ve lived together ten weeks and we had sex once! It wasn’t even— _hup!_ —It was an accident!”

Harry groaned.

“I really do not want to know that.” She winced as she tapped her elbow on Harry's thigh.

“We keep talking like it will happen again, but it hasn’t.”

“If you ever tell Malfoy I defended him I will deny it, but Hermione, you’ve been dating him three weeks. Maybe a bit before that because you two were awfully close at first, but ten weeks? Blaise is my friend. Malfoy not so much, but … Perhaps try to see it from his perspective.”

“His perspective?!” Hermione whined. “I’m his girlfriend and he just went to Blaise like—“

“Like they’ve been friends for twenty years?” Harry asked. Hermione snapped her mouth shut. “They love each other, Hermione. The way I love you and Ron, they are that close. Blaise is the only serious relationship he’s ever had and it ended pretty terribly. He lost his family and his best friend at the end and ended up living with Nott for months until his father died. During which time Tracey Davis was incredibly sick with the twins, now he’s just learned that one of his best friends died giving birth to his son, so how exactly is Draco supposed to feel about sex and relationships?”

_Well, when you put it like that—_

“Can you blame him for not wanting to mess up another one?”

“I suppose not,” Hermione sniffled.

“Maybe it is easier for him to go to Blaise because he knows Blaise will be there for him no matter what, but he can’t say that about you.”

“So this is really my fault?” Hermione asked.

Harry shrugged.

“Maybe.”

Hermione’s instinct was to snap back at him, but Harry had a valid point. Malfoy knew when to get close and knew when to back away. He held her during a panic attack. He kissed her on the cheek when something was bothering her. He even picked up her shoes after a row!

_Have I done anything like that for him?_

“Every time I try to do something nice, to show him I care, he comes back with, ‘You owe me nothing and I owe you everything.’”

“Well that’s true,” Harry replied.

“But I care anyway!” Hermione whined. She wiped her nose with her sweater sleeves then sat up to look Harry in the eyes. “How do you show someone you love them enough to be with them through everything?”

Harry blinked several times in rapid succession.

“Did you just say …” He sort of stumbled over his question so Hermione repeated,

“How do I show him I can love him through anything?”

Harry released his hold on her shoulders and stared down at his trainers. Hermione always thought it odd that he would wear shoes in his house. When she finally asked why, Harry said the Dursleys had a rule against trainers in the house. Hermione looked down and smiled, realizing she’d forgotten to take hers off as well. Harry sighed and spoke very quietly when he answered.

“I am with Ron on this. Malfoy was a Death Eater and he did loads of awful things we do not have to forgive him for. But if this is really what you want, I trust Malfoy to do the right thing when it matters most because he always has. I think there are better men and you are brilliant enough to find one you like.”

“I like him,” Hermione said resolutely.

“I understand that,” Harry said. He quickly amended, “Well fuck that, no I don’t. I don’t understand how you could go from Ron to Malfoy but I trust your judgement. I hired him because he learned that it is okay to care about other people. I trusted that, and obviously I’m going to fire his arse for giving me a fake Time-Turner, so he’ll have a lot more time to spend ‘round the manor. I don’t hate the idea as much as I once would have because I think that while he’s still an arrogant prick who couldn’t duel his way out of a wet paper bag, he can keep up with you in a way the rest of us probably can’t.”

“The crazy thing is I know exactly when it happened,” Hermione admitted. “I fell in love with him before I realized that’s what it was. Everything just sort of fell into place.”

“What the bloody hell could he possibly have done to make that happen?” Harry asked, seeming equal parts curious and disgusted.

“He showed me the Mark.”

“Erm, what now?!” Harry asked, stunned. “He showed you the Dark Mark?”

Hermione nodded.

“He let me touch it.”

She didn’t bother mentioning the effect it had on Draco since that fell pretty squarely into the pile of “Things Harry Does Not Need to Know.” But Harry turned to her with raised eyebrows and an expression of utter disbelief. He threw his hands in the air and asked,

“But you didn’t believe he’s in love with you?!”

“Well, I—“

“No! No, d’you remember fifth year when you were trying to explain Cho’s feelings to me? Is this how you felt? How did you resist the urge to smack me upside the head?! Hermione, I’ve seen Malfoy wear long-sleeved shirts in the middle of July just to cover up the Mark. I asked about it once and he didn’t work another case for months. Just because I asked about it! He’s letting you touch it?!”

 _Well he_ likes _it._

Hermione awkwardly cleared her throat.

“Yeah, he lets me touch it. I know he trusts me, Harry, but can we really overcome everything that happened before all this?”

Harry shrugged.

“If anyone can find a way to do it, you can,” he said. “But if it fails spectacularly it’s a loss for Malfoy, not for you. Ron never made you this upset.”

“Ron never made me feel this much of anything,” Hermione countered. “And that’s the problem.”

**.oOo.**

Ginny ended up pulling the splinters from Hermione’s elbow. Hermione just sat there, numb to most everything.

“Now that Harry is up with the boys, I need to tell you something,” Ginny said.

Hermione nodded for her to continue, but she definitely did not expect to hear,

“I’m pregnant.”

_Oh._

Hermione offered a weak but sincere, “Congratulations.” Ginny rolled her eyes and mumbled, “Thanks,” as she pulled another shard of Dean’s floor from Hermione’s skin.

“Harry is really concerned about Al. Jay was different, you know. Outgoing, loves sports, loves people, he was me. Al really isn’t like either one of us, but he looks like Harry. He thinks it will have a negative effect on Al and I agree. But I don’t know what to do about it and adding another kid into all this wasn’t anywhere near the top of the list.”

“Is this why you retired?” Hermione asked.

Ginny nodded, “Yeah.”

“Al will be fine,” Hermione said. “He will have Scorp, at least.”

Ginny pushed a bandage onto Hermione’s arm and sighed.

“Yes, the Potters always have the Granger-Malfoys, don’t we?” she said.

Hermione gave her a hug and replied, “Of course.”

“Looks like you’ve got Option A and Option B well in hand, and you found Option C,” Ginny observed.

“Option C?” Hermione asked.

“You fell in love with him too,” Ginny replied.

“I wish I hadn’t. It feels awful. Draco never told me what was bothering him about Astoria’s death, but he told Blaise. Draco went to him instead of me, and I just don’t understand why. Why he thinks I’m going to leave …” Hermione paused, closed her eyes, and let out a soft whoosh of air as she realized the whole thing really was her fault. She placed a couple fingers against her temple and whispered, “Oh, God, if I hadn’t fucked up before I’ve really done it now.”

“What did you do?” Ginny asked. Hermione chuckled as her eyelashes stuck together. She wiped them dry with the heel of her hand and blinked several times before she answered.

“I left without saying good-bye.” 


	25. I'm All-In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean Thomas is a precious cinnamon roll, too good for this world, and there may be a declaration of love somewhere in here. (January 7th, 2007)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can read about Dean and Blaise's breakup [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15552483). Thank you so much for getting this crazy kidfic to seventeen thousand hits!

The night in Harry’s spare bedroom turned into Sunday morning, and Hermione didn’t get any sleep. She was exhausted, confused, and not ready to return to Malfoy Manor. She went to the only person who could have the answers she needed to hear.

**.oOo.**

Dean’s dining room had two plastic chairs. The house was very nice, very simple, exactly the sort of place she would have thought Dean would live. Exactly the sort of place she always imagined herself living until a couple Malfoys invaded her life. Dean put on some tea and offered it to Hermione, even though they both knew she hadn’t come over for biscuits. She awkwardly sank into the chair’s basket as Dean sat next to her.

“I assume you have questions,” he said.

“Questions?” Hermione asked. “You aren’t going to start in on how terribly self-centred I am?”

Dean laughed.

“We are all terrible and self-centred, Hermione. Let’s move on to something I can actually help you with.”

“You are not terrible or self-centred,” Hermione replied. Dean smiled and glanced down at his tea.

“That is a kind thing for you to say, and I appreciate you saying it, but I am terrible.” Hermione opened her mouth to protest but Dean held up a hand to silence her.

“When Blaise told me he made a Vow to Draco, I yelled at him. Accused him of loving Malfoy more than he ever could love me. I knew how lonely Blaise’s life was in school and then during the war. I knew his history with love, with his family; I still left him even though he made the Vow when he was eighteen and alone. While I take pride in trying to love and care for as many people as I can, I got jealous and overlooked all the reasons why Blaise did what he did before he ever really knew me. I abandoned the one person I love more than anyone in the world, and that makes me terrible.”

“Huh,” Hermione said.

_Sounds familiar._

“But I meant what I said yesterday; I have been exactly where you are. Draco and Blaise are uncomfortably close. Blaise took a Vow for him so I’d fucking hope so, but tell me what made you uncomfortable.”

Hermione picked at the bandage on her elbow.

“I don’t like that Draco let Blaise hold him like that. He’s never wanted me to hold him.” Dean nodded. “I hate that he didn’t say my name,” Hermione admitted. “He listed everyone he loves and it didn’t include me.”

“He doesn’t want to love you,” Dean said simply. He sipped his tea like that wasn’t a terrible thing to say. Hermione blinked and asked,

“What?!”

“He doesn’t want to love you,” Dean repeated. “Malfoy has only ever dated one person, and Blaise ended the relationship because Draco wouldn’t tell his parents,” he revealed. “Some Rita Skeeter wannabe caught wind of the breakup and tried to publish it at _WW._ They declined because it’s mostly rubbish and you don’t get on the bad side of the Malfoys unless you have an army at your back. He took it to _Wizards Quarterly_ who greenlit it, so the reporter went to Lucius Malfoy for comment.”

“Oh no,” Hermione said.

“Draco’s father confronted him, demanded to be told it wasn’t true, and Draco was tired of lying. He owned up to it and his father said … Well, all the usual things fathers say …” Dean trailed off, lost in his own memory for a moment. He shook his head and continued. “His mother was conveniently absent, so Draco was forced to leave the manor. All of which happened over the course of five days.”

_Oh my God._

“The only love Draco Malfoy has ever known cost him his best friend, his parents, and his home. So when I tell you he doesn’t want to love you it’s because the last time he fell in love his entire life was taken away from him. Now he has Scorpius to worry about. If you were to do the same …”

“I could ruin him,” Hermione realized aloud. “No one would believe him over me if I said he hadn’t changed. If I said he hadn’t converted I could take Scorpius away and make him out to be the evil person everyone wants him to be.”

“Like he said, everyone who loves him leaves, and he doesn’t want you to leave,” Dean said.

“But you and Blaise fixed it!” Hermione insisted. “You got through it, so how do I do that? How can I show him I am not going to leave?”

Dean was quiet for a long while. Hermione anxiously twirled her teacup on its saucer and sat in silence for so long she assumed Dean had forgotten she asked a question. He finally set his saucer back on the table and said,

“I had the ring in my pocket.”

He took a deep breath before he continued.

“I bought it back in May. I knew I wanted to marry Blaise back in February, but you’ve seen him. People who look like that don’t marry me, they marry the Draco Malfoys of the world. But after three months of him laughing at my stupid jokes, watching every single one of my football matches, and Blaise looking at me like I personally pull the sun into the sky every morning … I knew it was real. When we broke up I had the ring in my pocket.

“You’re probably wondering what that has to do with you,” Dean said, always just a little too perceptive. “I asked Blaise to marry me that day and he wouldn’t say yes unless I knew about the Vow. I left the ring with him, so the proposal you saw was our second attempt. The difference was that Blaise made the effort to understand what I needed. All the things he said to me were things he has never said about Malfoy. I am not going to lose the love of my life over Blaise making a Vow to do something he was going to do anyway.”

“But how do you watch Blaise and Draco be with each other like that and not get jealous?!” Hermione asked. “I understand they are friends, but he’s not like that with Theo. He’s not that affectionate with his own mother!”

“I remember that Blaise married me, and that generally does the trick,” Dean said. Hermione glared at him and he sighed before taking another sip of his tea. “We are never going to have what Blaise and Draco have, Hermione. They have twenty years together and you have, what, ten weeks? If that?”

“But I want what they have!” Hermione insisted.

“No, you don’t,” Dean shook his head. “Draco and Blaise are boring, good God. Blaise’s idea of a fun evening is needlepoint with your mum and Draco rarely leaves his house.”

“Then how do I get Draco to understand I can be with him and not be stuffy?” Hermione asked. “That I can work through this, that we can make a family together and that I am not going to leave?!”

Dean leaned forward a bit and said, “I know this may be a radical notion for you, Hermione, but you might want to start by telling him that.”

“God, Dean, but how?!” Hermione shouted a little too loudly.

He laughed.

“Well you can’t propose like Blaise did, so perhaps another gesture to show him you are committed? Or you could propose. I take it back, you should definitely propose,” Dean teased. Hermione kicked him underneath the table.

“The sale went through last Monday, so I might have something that could prove to him … Oh, Dean, you are brilliant!” Hermione stood up so quickly her plastic chair nearly tipped over. “I know exactly what to do!”

Dean shooed her away and said, “Let me know when Draco comes to his fucking senses so you two can go on a real date.”

“We’ve been on dates!” Hermione insisted.

Dean shot her a look that said, _Really?_

“Shut up and go buy some chairs,” Hermione teased before Disapparating.

**.oOo.**

Hermione clutched the manila envelope to her chest, still unsure it could survive the Floo. She stepped out of the fireplace and into Malfoy Manor, blowing soot off her documents. She kicked off her trainers and moved her neck from side-to-side, having Transported one too many times for her joints’ liking.

She went from room to room until she found Lady Malfoy in her study, reading _Paddington_. Hermione shook her head, certain she was dreaming. Without looking up, Narcissa said,

“He missed you.”

_Which one?_

Scorpius gave Hermione a teary smile, his pale cheeks stained red from extended bouts of crying. He reached out for her but kept hold of the ring he was chewing on. Hermione took him and pulled up his top lip to reveal two new teeth poking their way through.

“Merlin, it seems like just the other day you came into my life, and now you’re up to five teeth!”

Narcissa crossed her legs and straightened her lilac robe. She threaded her fingers together and looked up at Hermione to say,

“May I ask what happened?”

“I assume you know much of it already,” Hermione said, bouncing Scorp up and down on her hip.

“Draco figured out who left Scorp on my stoop.” Lady Malfoy made no indication as to whether this was new information and did not ask for a name. “I do not fully understand how Draco came to his conclusion, something about Scorp’s green blanket. He seems to have forgotten a few details, and I also know that Astoria’s illness must not have been a one-person effort.”

Narcissa frowned and straightened in her chair.

“Do you?” she asked.

Hermione’s nerves wavered, but she held steady.

“Astoria wrote that her son should be named after a star, in keeping with Black family tradition. It occurs to me that Blaise has no investment in that legacy. Curious, isn’t it, that she would have such concern for Black tradition?”

“I suppose it would be to an educated mind,” Lady Malfoy replied evenly.

“I imagine she must have had someone telling her how important the Black family legacy is. Someone who always felt the slightest bit jilted by her family, having not been named after a star herself.”

“Or you may find that Astoria made the request out of thanks to her caregiver,” Narcissa replied. Hermione nodded since all the pieces had finally come together.

“She was here, wasn’t she?” Hermione asked. “In Malfoy Manor.”

“Yes,” Lady Malfoy replied. “As I have always said, Miss Granger, I have done everything in the world to protect my family. What little of it I had left. Miss Greengrass was being pressured by her family to do something she did not wish to do and she came to the only person who would help.”

“You have to tell him,” Hermione insisted. “Not now, but one day you must tell him. The longer you wait, the angrier he will be when you do.”

Lady Malfoy sighed warily, like the weight of the continent had been placed on her shoulders.

“One day when he is of a better mind, I will tell him. He is in a delicate state right now.”

“Catatonic, he told me once,” Hermione guessed. Lady Malfoy nodded and Hermione held Scorp just a little tighter.

“My son has seen too many horrors, Miss Granger. The week after Scorpius was born, Astoria was on the mend. We genuinely believed she would survive but then she took a drastic turn for the worse and never recovered. It was difficult enough for Blaise to witness at the end, so I am grateful my son never had to see it. It would have damaged his faith beyond repair. I put my faith in you, trusted you to not break his heart.”

Narcissa stood up and placed a hand on Hermione‘s shoulder. Her frown deepened, and for the first time in the nearly three months Hermione had lived at Malfoy Manor Narcissa looked like a fifty-year-old woman who had fought two wars. She wasn’t intimidating or crass in that moment, she was tired. Her eyes were sunken and dark brown, almost warm. Almost.

“Whatever you did, I need you to fix it.”

**.oOo.**

Hermione took her time in the bath, trying to convince herself the manila envelope would solve her most pressing problems. She was too tired to stand in the shower so she had Tippy draw up a bubble bath. Once the tub was halfway full, Hermione stepped in and sank to the bottom, leaning her head back against the edge. She cracked her toes against the bottom of the tub and groaned.

_That felt so good._

She listened to the water pour for a couple more minutes, allowing herself to get lost in the white noise. Everything happening with Draco, with Scorpius, and now with Ginny ... Hermione needed to turn her thoughts toward absolutely nothing at all.

Eventually, she used her toes to turn the faucet off then started undoing the knots in her hair. It took time, a mindless task that took until all the steam had evaporated and the bubbles faded until they were little more than suds ‘round the edges. She shampooed and conditioned, not because it was necessary but because she still didn’t believe Draco could forgive her selfishness and wished to put the impending conversation off as long as she could.

But the time came, so Hermione stepped out of the tub sufficiently pruned. She opened her vanity and scanned through everything. The special hair potion she found on that one trip to visit Viktor was on the top shelf, unused since the ball. That toothpaste Mum and Dad insisted would whiten her teeth (but hadn’t yet) sat discarded on a middle shelf. Hermione warily eyed the pointy-topped bottle made of purple crystal that seemed to be staring at her.

_Anti-Fertility Potion. Haven’t needed it in months, and yet I keep taking it, keep hoping ..._

She pulled on her favourite pair of silky pajama bottoms and her Gryffindor t-shirt because at least one part of this conversation should be comfortable. She padded barefoot into her room, through Scorp’s nursery, and stopped at Draco’s doorway.

He was cross-legged on his bed with his head against the headboard, hands stuffed into the pocket of his Yankees hoodie. It occurred to Hermione that while Draco had made several trips into her bedroom to watch her get ready, have a heart-to-heart, or both ... She had never been in Draco’s room. She knocked and asked,

“May I come in?”

He didn’t move. Hermione hadn’t expected him to, so she stepped in and looked around. It was ... _bare._ The walls were light grey and the ceiling was white with little textured swipes that looked like someone had tried to sweep the paint up in little spirals. His pillows and duvet were white and his bedside table was glass. His wand box was on the table closest to him, for easy access in case of an emergency. A sign that the war never really left. The only other thing at Draco’s bedside was Luna’s painting of the two of them, a shrunken version in a small frame.

The walls were empty and his closet appeared impeccably organized, save for the clothes he had worn the day before which had been tossed unceremoniously at the foot of his bed. Hermione Summoned the envelope and took a deep breath.

“Hi,” she said.

Still nothing.

“It has been brought to my attention that I have been a selfish arsehole and I apologize. You have cared for me, trusted me, and I was angry because you never let me do that for you. I hate being useless, so when you went to Blaise for comfort I felt like you didn’t need me the same way I need you.”

Nothing, not even an eye twitch.

“But Harry made me realize maybe you do. You went to Blaise because you need me and it scares you, or you don’t think you deserve me, or some other stupid reason your mind has come up with. You know what he is willing to do for you, but you can’t say the same for me.”

Hermione thought she saw his jaw twitch, but it might have been a trick of the light. She climbed onto the bed and looked at Draco carefully, hoping he would open his eyes and say everything was fine. The moonlight spilled in from his window but didn’t quite reach the bed so they were little more than shadows.

“Look, I am here to promise you I am not going to leave you. I am never going to betray your trust and you have already earned mine. Now, I can say that but I know you still won’t believe it.”

Hermione pulled the stapled papers out of the envelope and tossed them into Draco’s lap. It merited no reaction.

“I am all-in, Draco. It has been a month since we started dating and in that time my heart has been more full than it ever was when I was with Ron. I plan to make Malfoy Manor my home, so I sold my house.”

Draco finally opened his eyes and Hermione startled reflexively. He didn’t turn his head to look at Hermione, but at least it was a sign of life.

“That’s the finalized transfer, right there.” She nodded to the papers in his lap. “I don’t need a safe haven. I am here for you and for Scorp, through anything and everything life will send our way. Whether that’s Revivalists or crazy purebloods or sending Scorp off to Hogwarts, I will be here through it all.”

She shifted on her knees and awkwardly half-walked until she was kneeling in front of him. Hermione placed her hands on either side of his face, looked him in the eyes, and said,

“I love you, Draco Malfoy, and I need you to believe me.”


	26. Option A

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione has a quarter-life crisis. Three words, eight letters make it better. (January 8th - 18th, 2007)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I upgraded this fic to "explicit" for this chapter since there is an explicit-ish sexytimes scene at the end. Better safe than sorry, I suppose.

_Pent-up desire travels down from her chest to settle between her hips. His kisses are hard, needy, begging for Hermione to give herself over entirely. Each time he touches her she burns with the desire to believe he loves her in return. No one else has ever touched her quite so reverently, quite so goddamn lovingly._

_He doesn’t need to say it back, not really. The answer is there as the pads of his fingers travel down her spine at an achingly slow pace. Everything with him is slow, like he feels the need to ask permission to keep going. As though after spending seven years as her personal demon he is terrified of hurting her ever again._

_It is the best sort of agony. He is overtop her, everywhere except the one place she so desperately needs him to be. Her eyes are closed but she knows that teasing smirk is on his face as he watches her, back arched, sheets wrinkling between her fingers—_

“You really can sleep like the dead, you know.”

Hermione bolted upright and forced her eyes open so she could take in her surroundings. Her heart beat wildly as she looked around the room to see grey walls and a white ceiling. She was in a bed larger than her own and there was a wand box on the bedside table.

_Draco’s room. I’m still in Draco’s room._

Draco himself appeared almost out of nowhere to stand at the side of his bed. Hermione jumped a bit and he laughed.

“Your mother is here, evidently concerned that you were not here yesterday during their weekly visit.” Draco pulled on a navy jumper. “I think at least one of us should look presentable, lest she presume we were up to something untoward. Then again, judging by the sounds you were making we may well have been.”

Hermione’s cheeks flushed bright red before she let her head fall into her hands, so embarrassed she was half-tempted to burrow underneath the duvet until he left. She looked up again and Draco smiled down at her.

“I hope I ravished you sufficiently,” he teased. Her responding silence seemed to throw Draco off. He nervously tucked some of Hermione’s hair behind her ear and said,

“Thank you for coming back. No one has ever done that before.” Draco paused for a moment, kind of lost in awe that she was actually present. “God, Hermione, you just came back without a reason.”

“I feel like being in love with you is reason enough,” Hermione said.

Draco sat on the bed and kissed her, just as slow and tantalizing as in her dream but not a prelude to anything more. When Hermione pushed him away, she said,

“You don’t have to say it back. Kissing me with morning breath is answer enough,” she teased.

Draco laughed and leaned in to give her another quick kiss, as if to emphasize the point. He popped up and ran to the doorway but turned around to say,

“You need to get ready for work, Granger! You know, heal people, save the day.”

**.oOo.**

Chief Healer Battlehunt called Hermione into his office on Thursday. In the five years she had worked at St. Mungo’s, Hermione had been in that office a total of three times. Once for a promotion, once to explain a complicated treatment regimen, and then to request maternity leave.  She bit off her thumbnail on the way upstairs, worried something had gone wrong.

_Don’t panic._

_Don’t panic._

Hermione took a deep breath in through her nose and out through her mouth, willing her heart to calm down. She told herself she had done nothing wrong, which had the benefit of being true, but it didn’t feel that way. A summons out of nowhere could not be good. There was nowhere to promote her, nowhere to send her, no medical goal she had yet to accomplish.

_Except that cure for Dragon Pox. I will find it!_

Chief Healer Battlehunt’s office door was open but Hermione knocked anyway. He looked up from his desk and said,

“Come in, Miss Granger.”

She sat down, ramrod straight in the chair across from him. Before he could say anything Hermione said,

“I am sorry for whatever I did, sir. I know my life is bringing unnecessary publicity and scrutiny on the Maeve Ward and I am sorry for that, but—“

“Miss Granger, I need you to stop talking now,” Chief Healer Battlehunt insisted rather warily. Hermione obliged and he pointed to a large platinum award in the shape of an anatomical heart encircled by a Phoenix.

“Do you know what that is, Miss Granger?” he asked. Hermione shook her head. “That is my reward for fifty years of tenure here at St. Mungo’s. I oversaw this hospital through two wars. I treated Death Eaters and Order members, oversaw Nicolas Flamel’s treatment, and have mended more hit wizards than I care to remember. Before then I treated Malfoys, Blacks, Weasleys, Potters, I have seen the worst moments of every wizarding family you could name and many you could not. This hospital has been my life, Miss Granger.”

Hermione nodded.

“You have done so much good. Your work is unparalleled and we are all fortunate you chose to do this.”

“Well, I’m afraid the time has come for me to step down,” the Chief Healer revealed. Hermione gasped. “I am eighty years old, Hermione. I worked as a Healer for twenty years before getting promoted to Chief Healer and that was thirty years ago. I want to live the last part of my life outside this hospital, experience the world I have spent my life trying to heal. But I will not leave unless I know it is in good hands. The world will always need St. Mungo’s.”

“I agree completely,” Hermione said. “Who do you have in mind? I hear there are fantastic Healers over in America! Viktor speaks very highly of their small hospital in Bulgaria, I am sure we could find—“

“I want you to take over, Miss Granger,” he said.

Hermione blinked several times in rapid succession then said, “Sorry, what?”

“You, Hermione Granger, are my first choice to succeed me. I know I have not been the most friendly or affectionate boss, but I admire your intellect. Being Chief Healer is about solving large-scale problems and dealing with unruly patients or even unhappy employees. You command enough respect to make this job work even with your comparatively little experience. You have proven yourself as both a Healer and now as a mother, being able to bridge every gap in your life and I have every confidence you will help others to do the same.”

Hermione wiped a stray tear escaping from her eye. She looked down at her hands and said,

“I don’t know what to say. Thank you, of course, for those kind words.”

“Do I detect hesitance, Hermione?” Chief Healer Battlehunt asked. “I thought you would be excited.”

“I am honoured, obviously, but I have to think of my family,” Hermione admitted.

“I have a year left so you have time to give me an answer,” the Chief Healer said.

“Okay,” Hermione nodded. She stood up from her seat and repeated, “Okay. I have to go back to work now. Thank you, um, thank you again for saying ...”

“Yes, quite alright, Miss Granger.”

**.oOo.**

“Hermione, are you listening, or not?!”

Hermione shook her head and focused on Trisha.

“Sorry, again please?” she said. Trisha’s lips formed a thin line but she went on as though nothing had happened.

“I have been trying to perfect that Dragon Pox ointment, and I think if we combine the Essence of Comfrey with African Sea Salt then add a dash of lavender it might improve results,” Trisha said, making another note on her clipboard. Hermione nodded.

“Why lavender?” she asked.

“For the scent,” Trisha admitted. “Comfrey smells something awful.”

Trisha Buttermere was two years younger than Hermione, but she acted so much like a teenager sometimes. Parties, alcohol, failing to read all the potion instructions … Yet, Hermione didn’t know anyone else who could replace her. As irresponsible as Trisha could be, she was both logical and inventive. She opened Hermione’s eyes to antidotes she had not considered.

It had been ten days since Hermione told Draco she loved him. Most things were back to normal. Draco seemed to be fine and Scorp was still climbing all over the furniture. But he still hadn’t said the words, and it made Hermione worry she was in too deep. Perhaps Draco was too afraid to ever love anyone again and she was setting herself up for failure.

“Seriously, Hermione, are you alright?” Trisha asked. “You keep popping into your own thoughts. Is everything okay? Is Malfoy doing something to you?”

“What?” Hermione asked. “No! No, Draco is not the problem. He is … Well, he is a problem, but ….” _Oh, to hell with it._ “Trisha, I’m in love with him.”

“Oh my God!” she squealed. Everyone in the ward turned to look but she waved them off. “Nothing to see here! Sorry!”

“I know,” Hermione whispered. “I thought about resigning, Trish. Do you think you could replace me if I left?”

“Why? You are one of the best Healers we’ve had since Maeve herself! No one can replace you, Granger,” Trisha said. “I wouldn’t be a bad choice if you want to leave, but you can have a family and do this, too.”

“I suppose—“

Hermione stopped suddenly because there was a familiar blond head in the door’s window. Draco slid inside and said,

“Granger! I have about two minutes before that unobservant bint at the desk realizes I slipped away.”

The entire ward turned to look at him. Or, more likely, turned to look at Scorpius who anxiously clung to his father’s shoulder. There must have been two-dozen people in the room and Scorp had never seen so many people in one place. Hermione started walking over toward him but Draco held up a hand and said,

“Stop.”

“Why?” Hermione asked, obliging him anyway.

“Because you have to see this!” Draco said. He pried Scorp’s fingers from his coat and knelt down on the ward’s tiled floor. “You won’t be home for another three hours and this could not wait.”

Hermione was immediately suspicious. Draco was hardly coy anymore unless they were discussing Astoria. Draco placed Scorpius on the floor and told Hermione to come closer until they were only a metre or so apart.

“Okay, Scorp, go say hello to your mother,” Draco said as he took his hands completely off Scorp’s torso.

“He’s standing on his own now?!” Hermione said, smiling. “That’s amazing!”

“Wait for it, Hermione,” Draco teased. He whispered to Scorpius, “Go on.”

Then Scorp put his left foot forward. Then his right foot. Then his left foot again. Hermione looked up at Draco, smiled, and said,

“No way! Oh my God!”

His steps after that were wobbly, so Hermione knelt down to be on his level. His eyes were focused on her with that heart-shaped smile on his face. Hermione didn’t think Scorpius realized he was doing anything new and he made it halfway before running into trouble. Hermione held her breath and her heart raced on as Scorpius slowed to a full stop. He held his hands out in front of him and Hermione did the same, whispering,

“Come here, Scorp! You can do it, baby.”

He wobbled the rest of the way, once taking too big a step and nearly face-planted right onto the tile. He caught himself with his hands, pushed back up, and took the final few steps toward Hermione, arse wiggling the whole way.

Hermione had never felt more proud of anyone than she was when Scorp fell into her arms.

_He can walk!_

She looked up at Draco, whose eyes were shining and he was smiling wider than Hermione had ever seen. They both stood up and Draco gave her a hug and quick kiss on the cheek.

“I can’t believe it!” Hermione said. “He’s hardly eight months old!”

“Well, we’ve been practicing,” Draco conceded. That smile didn’t waver, but Hermione frowned.

“Practicing?” she asked.

“Of course. What did you think we have been doing while you are at work? I knew you would want to know when he finally made it more than a couple steps, and honestly? I have never been this happy.”

Hermione wished she could say the pride she felt watching Scorpius take some of his first steps outweighed the dread that she and Scorpius would never match up to the relationships Draco already had. She wanted it to outweigh the way she dreaded choosing between her job and her son. The first moment Hermione finally felt like a mother shouldn’t be tinged with worry that her son was already closer to Draco by virtue of both time and blood … but it was.

Then the front office assistant burst through the door and shouted,

“MALFOY!”

“And that is my cue to leave,” Draco said, taking Scorpius from Hermione’s arms. He bent down to kiss her, that smile not leaving his face. Hermione still didn’t know how, but Draco knew something was off. He asked, “What is wrong? What did I do?”

“Nothing,” Hermione shook her head and forced a smile. She looked around the Maeve Ward, conscious of everyone staring at them. “We, um, we need to talk when I get home, alright?”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“Bloody hell, Granger, nothing good ever comes after that. Have you finally come to your senses and decided to leave me?”

“No!” Hermione insisted.

“Good, because Scorp and I need you,” Draco said. He shifted Scorpius to rest on his other hip before saying, “Anything else we can figure out together, I promise. We pissed off all the Purebloods in Europe and, by the looks of the faces in this room, a good portion of everyone else, too. Somehow after three months of living together we still haven’t murdered each other—“

“Draco Malfoy, you have to leave!” The front desk attendant shouted. “You are trespassing! You cannot be in here!”

Draco turned to face her and said, “That is a load of Dragon dung and you know it, Midgeon. I am visiting my girlfriend at work and would have left fifteen bloody minutes ago if you had just let me up when I asked!”

“We do not allow—“

“Look, I will go with you because Granger wants to get back to Healing people, saving the world, and all that rubbish,” Draco said. He followed Eloise out the door, but not before turning around so Scorp could wave good-bye.

Hermione waved back as the door swung closed. The entire ward started whispering to each other and Hermione yelped when Trisha appeared by her side.

“You know, I understand why you would want to give this up,” Trisha said. “Part of me wants you to so I can have your job, of course. But Hermione, honestly, that is the most adorable kid I have ever seen in my goddamn life.”

_And how much of his life am I going to miss out on? How long can I be Healer-in-Charge before he starts to wonder whether I love him at all? Does this make me a poor mum?_

**.oOo.**

Draco was slowly nursing a mug of Butterbeer in the dining room when Hermione finally got back to the manor.

“Later than usual,” he observed. Hermione tossed her Healer robe over the chairs. “It’s nearly six.”

“Well I had twenty people who wanted to tell me how cute Scorpius is. After they said how sorry they were for making assumptions about you and that we look like a real family,” Hermione said, glaring at the floor.

“I think that is a good thing, but it sounds as though you disagree,” Draco said. He took a long swig of Butterbeer and Hermione immediately regretted saying anything at all.

“I was at work!” she insisted.

“Yes, I know, I just wanted to share the moment with you,” Draco said. “I know you want to keep our life separate from your work and I should have respected that. I had not been that happy in a very long time and let excitement get the better of me. I apologize.”

“What?” Hermione asked. “No, Draco, you aren’t the problem!”

“Oh,” he said, surprised. “If not me, then what is it?”

“Me!” Hermione shouted. “Work!”

Draco leaned forward and said, “I thought you loved Healing.”

“I do, but I wasn’t here,” Hermione admitted. “How much of Scorp’s life am I going to miss because of my job? Where is the line between good mum and bad mum?”

Draco stood up and placed his hands on Hermione’s shoulders.

“You are a fantastic mother, Hermione,” he said. “I know no one who could have done what you did for Scorpius. You pulled together a family from nothing and kept the most assiduous ward at St. Mungo’s up to snuff while caring for a newborn. You could do nothing for the rest of his life and still be a better parent to him than I would have been without you.”

Hermione wrapped her fingers around his wrists and huffed.

“I want to be here for those moments. His first words, his first ride on a broomstick, be there to kiss his knees after he falls off the broom. I want to be there for it all. I was considering handing in my resignation letter but the Chief Healer is stepping down at the end of the year and offered me his job.”

Draco’s eyes lit up.

“Oh my God!” He pulled Hermione into a tight hug then pulled back to look at her with shining eyes. “Congratulations! That is remarkable even by your standards. I did not think this day could get any better and now this? Why am I happier about it than you are?”

“Because I’d be away from my son,” Hermione admitted. “And I’d be away from you.”

Draco narrowed his eyes and Hermione knew he had figured out too much. She hated that Draco could read her so easily. Harry and Ron never understood her emotions well, and Draco was so good as to be unnerving. He took her hand and led her upstairs.

“That is not all that is bothering you, Hermione. We never talked about what happened last week.”

“I didn’t think anything else needed to be said,” Hermione countered.

“You are a liar,” Draco teased as they made their way up the steps toward their rooms. “You said something to me that I did not say in return.”

_Oh, right. That._

“It’s fine. You have to move slower than I do in this, and I am okay with it,” Hermione lied.

“Stop lying to me, Hermione, you are shit at it anyway!” Draco countered. He turned to face her in the middle of the hallway and said, “For all your logic, you do not understand relationships. That is why it takes so long for you to realize what you want. Why you lasted so long with Weasley, why you stayed away from your parents all those years, you just cannot understand your own desires.”

Hermione swallowed thickly.

_No one’s ever spelled it out like that._

“I have been attracted to you since I was thirteen. D’you know why?” he asked.

Hermione shook her head.

“Because in those months you were petrified I had no one to challenge me. I was bored and I missed you. And I hated that I missed you, Merlin’s arse, I hated you so much for that! I could either hate you like I was raised to or I could admit that everything else in my life was wrong and you were bloody brilliant and I liked you. I chose to hate you.”

“I don’t see what this has to do with anything now,” Hermione said.

“Love is hard,” Draco said. “I did not have a lot growing up, and what little I had was taken away when Voldemort moved in. Loving someone is like opening up your chest, exposing your heart, and letting someone mess around in there as they please. I know how painful that can be—literally.”

Hermione thought back to the one time she glimpsed the scars on Draco’s chest.

“With Blaise, when we were in love he was my best friend. I felt I could trust him. Even that ended terribly for me so I tried to convince myself I did not need that sort of love in my life. Did it fairly well, actually, until I came back from New York and you, of all people, were here waiting for me.”

“Okay …” Hermione said, still not fully understanding. Draco opened the door to his bedroom and motioned for Hermione to enter. He followed her inside and shut the door behind them. She said, “Your room is so bare.”

“Not much to put in here,” Draco said. “But I do have one thing on my bedside table. One sentiment, Granger.” He turned the miniaturized painting of them around to face Hermione and asked, “Why exactly do you believe I have this here?”

Hermione shrugged.

“Because you care about me.”

“Because I love you, Hermione.”

Her mouth fell open.

_Oh my God._

“Loving people has never ended well for me. Astoria, one of my closest friends, is dead. Blaise up and left me. My own mother turned her cheek when my father cast me out! I am no one’s first priority and I accepted that, but then you stumbled back into my life and I thought maybe you could be it. If I am going to take a risk on anyone, Granger, it is going to be you. I am trusting you to keep your promise to me. I am fucking terrified one day you will wake up and realize how disappointing I am, how difficult life with me is going to be, and you will leave, too.”

Hermione shook her head.

“I am not going to do that.”

Draco looked her in the eyes and said, “I believe you.”

Everything in that moment was so _much_. Hermione was happy that Draco loved her. She was still proud that Scorpius was learning to walk and confused about how life with Draco would work. She as even more frightened by the thought that it wouldn’t. But most importantly, she had Draco’s trust and everything else would fall into place.

She couldn’t figure out whether to cry or do something with her hands which seemed useless all of a sudden, so Hermione kissed him. Draco laughed at the ridiculousness of it, neither of them quite knowing what to do. Then all that emotion travelled downward to settle between Hermione’s hips and the shift between them was instantaneous. Draco’s fingers splayed out between Hermione’s shoulder blades, pulling her closer as his other hand rested on her waist.

Hermione tugged at her button-down, unzipped her skirt, and Draco stood back to admire her as it fell to the floor.

“Yeah, that is the sexiest thing I have ever seen,” he said roughly.

Hermione flushed red with embarrassment and busied herself undoing the buttons of her shirt, trying to distract herself from Draco’s white-hot gaze. Once she finished with the final button, Hermione realized she was in her knickers while Draco was still fully-clothed. She put her hands on her hips and pouted.

“Lord Malfoy, it seems you are a tad overdressed for the occasion.”

He laughed and said, “Get on the bed.”

“Are you telling me what to do?”

“Yes, I am,” Draco said as Hermione shrugged off her shirt and threw it at him. He followed her over to the side of his bed as she obliged his request. “Normally I would get you off first, but I know watching you orgasm will do me in and I am not coming in my pants twice in a row.”

“How considerate,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes.

When Hermione leaned back against the pillows Draco followed her down. Her legs moved instinctively, settling on either side of his hips as she pulled him closer by his sweater collar. He wasn’t kissing her fast enough or hard enough, opting instead to tease her into madness. Hermione lightly dragged her fingernails up his ribcage as she pulled Draco’s sweater and undershirt over his head in one motion.

Hermione wanted to touch him but didn’t know whether she could. The scars on his chest were not as prominent as she thought, probably just a trick of the light when she first saw them. Three ribbon-like gashes wound diagonally from just below his left shoulder to end halfway down his right side. They were just as pale as the rest of him, raised only a few centimetres out from his chest and crisscrossed by small bisecting lines like they hadn’t healed properly.

“Dark magic,” Draco whispered. He swallowed hard and said, “Looks disgusting up close, I know.”

Hermione shook her head and ran the pads of her fingers across his abdomen. He shuddered at the touch and she said,

“We all have scars, Draco, I am just happy we’re alive.”

He gave her a sad smile and began kissing a trail down her neck. Hermione’s eyes fluttered closed and she murmured words of approval as Draco’s lips made their way closer to her chest. She unclasped her bra and flung it onto the floor without ceremony so Draco could take one breast into his mouth and tease the other with his fingertips. She felt him already solid against her upper thigh and wanted _more_.

Hermione pressed her hips up against him and Draco growled into the juncture where her neck met her shoulder.

“Damn it, Draco, I need—“

“Yes, yes, patience, Granger,” he chided. Hermione let her head fall back and nodded. His fingers kept wandering lower, past her waist and eventually to slide her off her knickers. “You are so gorgeous like this, Hermione. I never see you relaxed. I never thought you knew how to relax.”

“Mmm …” Hermione mumbled as Draco slid a finger between her folds. He slowly stroked her up and down, pausing for just a moment over her clit on each pass.

“You are dripping, Granger,” he said, finally pressing a finger the slightest bit inside. Hermione’s hips arched up to try and force him deeper, but Draco pulled out. “Needy, aren’t you?”

“You are a rotten git, Draco Malfoy,” Hermione said. Draco only laughed and inserted two fingers up to the second knuckle. He curled them at just the right angle and Hermione gave him a contented sigh.

“Oh, yes, that is exactly what I want to see,” Draco said lecherously.

He kissed her again and Hermione felt herself flush bright red at his words. Draco removed his fingers to unbutton his trousers.

“You like that, don’t you?” he asked. Hermione feigned ignorance but he wasn’t fooled. He teased her. “You get off on compliments.”

“No idea what you mean,” Hermione lied.

She heard Draco unzip his trousers then pull them off. As he shucked his pants he said,

“I could get off just by listening to the sounds you make when I touch you.”

Hermione instinctively pulled him down into a kiss by the back of his neck and placed one of his hands on her chest.

“I like … being praised for things people … don’t … like about me.” Hermione stumbled through it as Draco started working his fingers against her clit again.

“The night I got back,” he said the words with a confessional tone, “you said ‘my bed or yours’ and it took every bit of restraint I possessed not to say ‘mine.’”

Hermione pressed her chest up against his hand so he increased the pressure. She moaned her approval and Draco smiled tenderly.

“When you slapped me you were too angry to notice that my dick was rock-solid afterward.”

Hermione smiled at that.

“I remembered the feeling of your face against my hand the next day,” she admitted. “I was so desperate to touch you again.”

“You can touch me any time, Hermione.”

The words were thick with lust, and longer, like he was dragging them out to prolong their eventual ecstasy. Draco finally danced his fingers up the inside of her thigh, his touch infuriatingly delicate. Hermione focused on the duvet tangled between her fingers, forcing herself not to beg for more.

“What did you think about when you imagined this, Hermione?” Draco asked.

Her breaths came in sharp, short bursts as she answered, “I thought about … you …”

“I would bloody hope so,” he teased, finally settling his hps between her thighs.

“Knew you’d go slow,” she said in one rushed breath. She felt the tip of Draco teasing at her entrance and concentrated hard to keep her arse on the bed. “Wanted …” Then he slid inside. Hermione opened her legs just a bit more as Draco fisted the pillows beside her head.

“Tell me what you wanted, Hermione,” he said as he slowly worked his way further in.

“I just wanted to feel loved,” Hermione admitted. “Never really got this far in my head, so surprise me.”

Draco pressed a feather-light kiss against her lips and Hermione begged him,

“Draco, more _please_!”

She shook with anticipation until Draco finally pushed past her barrier and slid all the way inside. Hermione could not suppress a breathy moan and Draco let out a harsh, “Fuck!” He moved his hips, pulled nearly all the way out before quickly sliding back in.

“I have imagined you like this every time I wanked since I got back,” Draco admitted. He sped up his pace a bit and continued. “Your face when you came was better than I ever dreamed. For days I could get off just by thinking of the way you clenched around my fingers.”

Hermione ran her hands along his sides and cupped his arse, bringing him to a full stop once he was bollocks-deep. She opened her eyes to see Draco looking down at her, his eyes eclipsed by lust, nothing more than silver halos around wide black pupils. He lowered himself so every inch of their bodies was touching. Skin on skin, lips on lips, fingers twined together as they tried to avoid scooping up any of Hermione’s hair.

“Say more things,” she eventually demanded, out of breath. Draco would have laughed if he wasn’t moments away from coming undone. Hermione released her grip on him and the snap of his hips against hers grew more frenzied with each thrust.

“Are you close?” he asked, his voice low in his throat. She felt his abs tense overtop her stomach and nodded as the familiar heat started to pool between her hips. Draco nodded his approval and said, “There is one more thing I feel I should tell you.”

He brushed his thumb over Hermione’s clit and as her eyes snapped shut she said, “ _Please_!”

Draco chuckled, pressed his thumb exactly where Hermione needed it, and whispered, “I actually quite like your hair.”

Whether it was the compliment or being completely at the mercy of Draco Malfoy, Hermione didn’t know what sent her over the edge. She clamped down around Draco and dug her fingernails into his shoulders. A couple thrusts later, Draco stilled above her, finding his own release with a strangled,

“Fucking hell, Hermione!”

He pulled out and rolled onto the bed next to her. Hermione was still boneless when Draco ran his fingers across her sensitive nub one last time to send aftershocks through her entire body. She was breathing heavily when Draco said,

“That was …”

“Completely ridiculous,” Hermione finished. “And probably the best sex I’ve ever had.”

Draco smiled wryly. Hermione knew there was a Weasley insult on the tip of his tongue, but he forced it back in favour of,

“Really? My goal was just to get my dick out of my pants this time.”

“I give you an Exceeds Expectations,” Hermione teased.

Draco laughed and propped himself up on his arm next to her. He bent low to kiss Hermione’s shoulder before giving her a tender, lazy kiss. Hermione ran her fingers through his hair, both of them covered in a sheen of sweat and desperately in need of a shower. He smiled at her and said,

“You, Hermione Granger, are without a doubt, Outstanding.”


	27. Strike One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Questionable sleeping arrangements, crucial conversations, and an introduction to your new favourite Slytherin.

Sex with Draco Malfoy was great.

The aftermath, Hermione grabbing her clothes and lightly padding back to her room, was not. The knowing glances from Narcissa and Hermione’s attempts to avoid her own mother were not great. She just felt like there were expectations with this new level of their … _liason_. Expectations she was not ready to meet.

There was nothing to worry about on most Saturdays. Hermione was off work so Draco let her sleep in, opting to care for Scorp on his own. She woke around noon, had lunch with Draco and Scorp in the manor library, and argued with Draco about when they should buy him a broom. She endured pointed quips from Narcissa at dinner, such as,

“May I presume you two have learned to lock a door?”

And, Hermione’s personal favourite:

“Scorpius has outgrown so many of his clothes I am considering giving them to the Potters. That is, unless the two of you give me a reason to keep them.”

Hermione and Draco were intimate again, but this time when Hermione got up to leave Draco said,

“You can stay.”

Hermione pulled her trousers on and pulled her shirt over her head. She stared at her underthings on the floor and thought maybe she could stay. She hadn’t spent the night with someone since she left Ron, and taking that chance on someone else was hard. Apparently she took too long to respond so Draco waved her off.

“It’s fine,” he snapped. He flopped over and buried his face in his pillow. Hermione walked back to her room feeling worse than ever. Why was everyone rushing her?

**.oOo.**

Hermione took her parents to their favourite little cafe on Sunday. She said it was a treat for all their help with Scorp, but it was truly an excuse to avoid Draco. Every time Hermione thought about him her stomach tightened up with guilt she didn’t understand. The owner came over to hand out their menus with a delighted,

“Hi, Abby! Jack, glad to see Hermione back around these parts, I expect!”

“Absolutely!” Hermione’s father beamed, discarding the menu since he had it memorized. “She’s a mother now, you know.”

“Is she really?” the owner asked. She was smiling down at Mr. Granger almost too cheerily. It had been so long since Hermione had dined there she had forgotten the owner’s name. She might have been sixteen on her last visit.

“Yes, a little boy just eight months old now,” Mr. Granger said.

“Don’t see a ring there,” the owner said, nodding toward Hermione’s left hand. She quickly stuffed it below the table. “That Ron boy holding out on you? Need to snatch him up quick, otherwise he’ll think you’re just—”

“The young mister Weasley is not the father of Hermione’s child, Ingrid, not that it is your business to know,” Mrs. Granger snapped. “My daughter adopted a child and is dating a very wonderful young man. She is one of the most sought-after doctors in her community and I will have the chowder.”

Mrs. Granger gently folded her menu and handed it to her husband.

“Fish and chips for me today,” Mr. Granger said, awkwardly handing their menus back to the owner.

“Um,” Hermione glanced down at the menu before saying, “same for me.”

Once Ingrid left Hermione said, “Thanks, Mum, for saying all that.”

“She flirts with your father every time we are in, and it just … I don’t like it. But to have her lecture you on life choices is something I will not tolerate.”

_Careful, Mum, your Narcissa is showing._

“We go to the dental convention every year in London and all the men flirt with you, Abby,” Mr. Granger said. “Yet I get one woman who owns a restaurant and that’s too much!”

“That convention is once a year!” Mrs. Granger countered. “We are here twice a month!”

“The CEO of that toothpaste company phones you just as often!” Mr. Granger countered.

“And you love trying to new flavor samples he sends us!” Hermione’s mother insisted.

“I still think you don’t have to be quite so rude to Ingrid,” Mr. Granger said.

“Rude would be snogging you senseless next time she comes over to the table and I have not ruled it out,” Mrs. Granger replied.

Hermione awkwardly cleared her throat and both her parents returned their attention across the table.

“I need help,” she said.

“Oh, honey, what is it?” Mr. Granger asked.

“I got a job offer,” she said, “a good one.”

“More hours?” her mother guessed.

“Yes, and more stress. More everything,” Hermione admitted, “but I really want it. I would be Chief Healer at St. Mungo’s and it has always been one of my goals, but … You know Scorp can walk?”

“Can he?” Mr. Granger asked, astounded. Hermione’s mother shook her head and said,

“That should not be possible at eight months.”

“It is more of a waddle than a walk, but he is moving on his own,” Hermione said. “Draco said they had been practicing while I was at work. Draco taught Scorp how to walk and I wasn’t there!”

Mrs. Granger sipped her water and thought for a moment.

“What do you want me to tell you, Hermione?” she asked.

“I want you to tell me what to do,” Hermione admitted.

“You take the job!” Mrs. Granger insisted. “But I cannot tell you what you want to do, only you know that.”

“If I spend more time at my job than with my son, wouldn’t that make me a bad mother?” Hermione asked. “Aren’t I just the same as all those bad parents who miss the big moments in their children’s lives?”

“Absolutely not,” Mrs. Granger said, waving the thought away with a wave of her hand. “Will Scorpius remember his first words? His first steps?”

“I suppose not, no,” Hermione conceded.

“He will remember that his parents were there every night when he went to bed. He will remember the first time he does something to make you proud. You will be there every Christmas, every breakup, every loss. There are many parents who spend more time with their children that is less valuable than every minute you spend with Scorpius. It does not matter if you are there as he learns to walk, so long as it’s your arms he wants to walk into.”

_Oh._

Jack Granger leaned over and gave his wife a quick kiss on the cheek.

“That is why I married you, Abby.”

Their food arrived, carried by a waitress this time. The conversation trailed off into banalities, with Hermione trying not to zone out as her parents complained about their patients. Eventually she threw down a chip and blurted out,

“Do you want me to marry Malfoy?”

Her parents stopped their chitchat and looked at her, confused.

“Do you expect me to marry Draco?” she repeated. They looked at each other, then down at the table unsure how to respond. Her father sighed heavily, took off his glasses, then wiped his eyes with the heel of his hands.

“Honey, we want you to do what you want to do,” he said. “Whether that is taking the job, not taking the job, marrying Lord Malfoy or not marrying him … We learned with Ronald that you have to make your own choices. We love Narcissa and we love Scorpius much, much more, but Draco Malfoy is not a choice we can make for you.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Hermione admitted. “I love him and I feel like this is destined to fail. Everyone else thinks I am too good for him, or he is too ‘Pure’ for me. We are moving too fast, and yet you both think of him like a son!”

“We do think you two make a great couple,” Hermione’s mother said quietly.

“Why?!” Hermione asked. “Draco looks at me the way I always wanted Ron to look at me. But why do you have confidence in us?”

“Because he told me, honey,” Mr. Granger revealed.

“He told you what?” Hermione asked.

“That first day we met him, after dinner I spoke with him for a bit.”

Hermione nodded; she remembered.

“We spoke about you and Scorpius, what his intentions were, why he felt like he needed you,” Mr. Granger said. “I asked him why he felt he deserved a second chance from our family.”

“What did he say?” Hermione asked. Her father shook his head and sighed.

“He said that he didn’t. Draco said that he believed Scorpius should not have to pay the price for his wrongdoings in the past, and that is why he was so ready to accept this new … What did he call it? His new lifestyle. He said you would be a better mother to Scorpius than he could be a father. Which, of course he’s right, but to hear him say it was a bit of a shock,” Mr. Granger admitted.

“None of that should have made you trust him,” Hermione said. “What did he say that made you believe he’s better than Ron?”

Mrs. Granger knowingly sipped her water and glanced at her husband, grateful she didn’t have to answer the question. Hermione’s father shifted in his seat and put his glasses back on before dropping the proverbial bomb.

“When Ron asked my permission to marry you, I asked what he wanted from you. He said he wanted to have a happy life like his parents had, and I thought that was a nice enough answer. I didn’t realize that meant several kids and you as a stay-at-home mother. I never would have agreed to that because I know that is not what you want. I don’t understand how Ronald ever thought it was.

“At dinner it was obvious Lord Malfoy was in love with you. The way he looked at you, the way he moved toward you every time a topic of conversation made him uncomfortable. I was bloody shocked he didn’t have you in his lap by the time dessert came ‘round,” Mr. Granger quipped. Mrs. Granger tilted her head to one side in subtle agreement. “So I thought I would ask him the same question I asked Ronald, to understand why Lord Malfoy had a more prominent effect on you.”

“What did he say?” Hermione asked. She jostled her empty plate around to conceal her shaking hands.

_How did Draco feel about me that first week?_

“He said he wanted you to teach him to love his son the right way,” Mr. Granger revealed. Hermione downed the rest of the water in her glass, unable to look at either of her parents. “He was truly worried he would end up like his father and he knew it wasn’t your responsibility to help him, he was emphatic on that point. But I pressed him for an answer and that is what he told me. That’s why I know he is better for you than Ronald was: Draco Malfoy understands what he needs to be in order for you to succeed. And he values your success over his own.”

“He also has a seven-point plan to get you elected Minister for Magic in ten years, so I think he is the winner,” Mrs. Granger added. Hermione had nothing to add so she paid and made for the door a couple minutes after her parents. A beautiful woman with short blonde curls bumped shoulders with Hermione on her way out. Before the door shut Hermione heard the woman say,

“Strike one, Granger.”

Hermione thought nothing of it, too wound up in the revelation about Draco to care about some woman knowing her name. Lots of people knew her name and something else had shaken her to the core. Her parents hoped she would marry Draco and it frightened Hermione to realize one day she may want that, too.

**.oOo.**

Hermione stopped by Mr. Mulpepper’s after work on Tuesday. Known for their “lotions, potions, and other notions,” along with their discretion. (The latter was vital in this instance.) She looked both ways before crossing the street and flinging open the apothecary door. She sagged against the nearest potion shelf and sighed. It had been another long day at work, another day without an answer for Healer Battlehunt. After a quick once-over, there seemed to be only two or three other customers in the shop so Hermione dashed to the front. The man behind the counter looked up from his conversation and shouted,

“Hermione!”

“Bastien,” she replied with a warm nod. He was not a friend, not really, more akin to a bartender who knew all her worst secrets. Bastien Queensbury was not quite six feet tall with dark curly hair, a dark beard, and probably the most kissable lips Hermione had ever seen. (Not that she’d ever mention it aloud.) He was a good listener and a trustworthy Slytherin, be there such a thing. Only then did Hermione recognize to whom Bastien had been speaking. She didn’t need to see the man’s face because only one person would wear shoes that nice into Diagon Alley.

“Granger, what a coincidence,” Blaise said. “We need to talk.”

Hermione ignored him and, bless him, so did Bastien.

“The usual pickup, Hermione?” he asked. She nodded and he pulled a form out from beneath the counter. Hermione took it and scanned the familiar selection of purple vials on the back wall. Instead of two labels, “W” and “M”; Hermione noticed an additional section of purple crystal labeled “D.”

“Why are there three types now?” she asked, marking the second box as she always did. It was habit; she hardly had to look at the form except to sign her name.

“Just started stocking dailies now, in addition to the weeklies and monthlies,” Bastien replied. Hermione handed him the completed form. He looked at it and said, “Oh? Alright then,” before turning to grab one of the vials off the wall. Blaise casually mentioned,

“If that is why you came, I suppose it is safe to assume you are enjoying sex with Draco.”

Bastien dropped the vial on the floor.

“Shit! Fucking shit!” he shouted and pointed at Blaise. “You’re paying for that Zabini! You know sex with Draco is an off-limits topic.”

“I think one go-round hardly makes you an expert,” Blaise quipped.

Hermione looked between the two of them and groaned.

“Merlin’s arse, are there any of you Draco hasn’t slept with?”

“Theo,” Blaise said at the same time Bastien quipped, “Probably Theo.”

“Okay then,” Hermione said, shifting awkwardly on her feet.

“It was one time, I was sixteen, and I am very much not gay,” Bastien insisted. “In fact, I have a date with Padma tonight and if you dally around much longer a queue will start forming and I will be late.”

Bastien turned and grabbed anther purple vial from the shelf.

“I am happy for the both of you,” Blaise admitted.

“I don’t have the words to describe how little I want to talk to you about this,” Hermione replied.

Before Blaise could say another word Bastien placed a small burlap bag on the counter.

“Discreet packaging, as always. That’ll be three Sickles and four Knuts, but I’ll bill it to Zabini since he knows better than to antagonize my customers.”

Hermione thanked him and said, “Just so you know, Padma is mad for Pumpkin Pasties.” She stuffed the small bag in her pocket then Blaise followed her out the door. Hermione busied herself buttoning her coat and turned in the direction of the Leaky Cauldron. She hoped Blaise would take the hint but was disappointed.

“I apologize for not respecting boundaries with Draco,” he said as they passed WISEACRE’S. Hermione cinched the belt of her coat a bit tighter, unwilling to engage him. “I know Draco and I have a history that can make things uncomfortable and I love him as my best friend, but I moved on from him a long time ago.”

Hermione exhaled heavily and watched her breath crystallize in the late January air. She crossed her arms and admitted,

“I see the way you are around Dean and I know how committed you are to each other. You are not the person I was concerned with.”

“Draco and I were together six years ago!” Blaise replied.

“But he still loved you,” Hermione added. Blaise shook his head. He stepped in front of Hermione and placed his hands on her shoulders.

“You have to understand he did not love me.” Blaise let his hands fall back to his sides before stuffing them in his pockets. “He did not love me the way he should have. I ended the relationship because Draco refused to tell his father. It was selfish but he was never going to commit to me the way he has to you. You are a Muggle-born living in Malfoy Manor! He is defying five-hundred years of tradition just by letting you through the door!”

“None of you get it!” Hermione shouted, shoving past Blaise. Her breath came out in short white puffs. Blaise walked next to her as she continued. “The only reason Draco went to Astoria is because he didn’t want to go to you for sex! He needed that from you.”

“Hermione, sex was the only thing that ever made him feel valued. It was how he coped when he was scared. It was absolute shit,” Blaise said as they crossed the street, “and I enabled it. So did Astoria, but it was not the same sort of love he has for you.”

“I’m going to fail,” Hermione whispered. “I’m worried I will fail at something and we will fall apart. Draco is so used to going to you for reassurance, for help, for love! How the hell do I compete with that?! The minute I muck something up will he go to you? Or do I have to worry about someone else?”

“You do not believe that,” Blaise insisted. Hermione waved him off but Blaise grabbed her elbow right where the cut was still healing.

“Do not touch me!” Hermione whisper-shouted at him. Blaise held up his hands and backed away as Hermione’s chest heaved with disapprobation.

“Hermione, he told Pans that you leave,” Blaise revealed. Hermione stopped dead in her tracks. Someone bumped into her and Blaise shot them a glare that made them scurry away.

“He did what?”

_He’s talking to Pansy about our sex life?!_

“I know it is not my place, and after what happened I am the last person you want to hear this from, but if you lied … If you do not love him you must tell him now. It is not fair to him!”

“You think I don’t love him?” Hermione asked, bewildered. “Do you think I would put myself through this if I didn’t?! Do you think I would have come back after told you what was bothering him, and not me? Even though he trusts you more than he trusts me? I love him in spite of that, and it terrifies me!” Hermione shouted. “I do not need you interfering in our lives, Blaise. Merlin knows you have done enough of that.”

“I—” Blaise began, but any response was caught in his throat.

Hermione practically ran past Fortescue’s but Blaise caught up once again.

“Will you forgive me, then?” he asked. Hermione turned to face him and expected him to keep talking. But Blaise Zabini was silent, awaiting her response. She dropped her shoulders.

“For what?” she asked. “For leaving Scorp at my door without explaining yourself? For manipulating me all those months into thinking that you were there because you liked me and cared for Draco? Or for presuming to know anything about my relationship to him?”

She was met with more silence. Blaise Zabini was good at selecting his words; choosing when to speak so his words carried more weight. Then again, Blaise was the sort of person who said what he meant, not much of an outright liar.

“I forgive you for all of it,” Hermione said, hands on her hips. “You did all this because he is your best friend, and I know how far I am willing to go for Ron and Harry. I understand, I forgive you, but you must stop trying to be his entire family. We are all here for him and you make this harder for me. I want to trust you, I do trust you, but don’t make me regret it.”

Blaise nodded.

“Thank you for accepting my apology. I will not take advantage of your faith in me, I promise.”

They looked at each other for a moment before Blaise said,

“Perhaps I have been living with Dean for too long, but I feel like this is where a hug would be appropriate.”

**.oOo.**

Hermione was exhausted that evening. Draco had the dark circles under his eyes he only got after two long workdays and little sleep in between. The minute Scorpius was asleep Draco made for his room without a word. Hermione followed him inside.

“Hermione,” he said warily, “I would love to, but not tonight. I am so tired and as magnificent a shag as you are, I really cannot—”

“Get dressed and come to my room,” Hermione insisted. She turned and left before he could object. Hermione didn’t bother to pull on sleep trousers, opting instead for a silk nightdress that fell to her knees. Draco petered into the bedroom a minute later in flannel pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. Hermione couldn’t help but smile.

“You spend so much money on clothes but you sleep in that,” she teased. Draco shrugged and gave her a once-over.

“I know I said I was too tired, but I probably could make a good go of it if you want …” he said. Hermione laughed and nodded toward the bed.

“Get in.”

Draco raised an eyebrow and asked, “Are you telling me what to do?”

“Always, Draco Malfoy,” Hermione replied with a smile. “And you should always listen.”

“Fat chance of that,” he quipped back. But he obliged and slid under the sheets with Hermione following close behind. Draco rolled overtop of her but Hermione pushed him off.

“Oh, thank God, I am exhausted,” he mumbled. Then he turned to look at Hermione and asked, “If not for a shag, then, why am I here?”

“Nox!” Hermione said with a wave of her hand. The room was plunged into darkness, lit only by the faint glow of Scorp’s night light. “Go to sleep.”

“Are you serious?” Draco asked.

“Not if you’re going to talk the whole evening,” Hermione replied.

She couldn’t be sure Draco smiled at that but she’d bet a few Galleons on it. He put his arm across Hermione’s midsection and she wrapped her arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. Draco jokingly nuzzled into her chest and said,

“Your tits make a nice pillow.”

Hermione laughed.

“Promise you’ll be here in the morning?” he asked, suddenly somber. Hermione threaded her fingers through his hair and said,

“I promise.”


	28. Family Ties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet the twins! And a drinking game.

Hermione stood inside the Leaky Cauldron with Scorpius balanced on one hip and Draco at her other side. It was just after five on Wednesday, and she still had no answer for Healer Battlehunt. Hermione was used to peoples’ stares, a hazard of being part of the Golden Trio, and Draco was used to attention albeit for the opposite reason. Eyeballs seemed magnetically drawn to their intertwined fingers as they left the pub and entered Diagon Alley. Smiles fell in favour of furrowed brows and disdainful expressions gave way to raised eyebrows as a haze of confusion escorted them down the street.

“Must by my haircut,” Draco joked. Hermione would have laughed if he didn’t have a death grip on her hand.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“You said you wanted to go out on a real date and this is my compromise,” Draco said, not answering the question. They passed Sugarplum’s then crossed the street toward the Second-hand Bookshop.

“Why is this so hard for you?” Hermione asked. She kissed the top of Scorpius’s head and he smiled up at her. “Is it the staring? You were fine at the Christmas party, at the ball …”

“No.” Draco shook his head. “The ball was at the manor. I know everything that happens in my house: who comes in, what they do, what they see … Out here I have no control and I find this very stressful, which is why I chose a place where I have friends.”

Before Hermione could ask what he meant, Draco opened the door to Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor.

“After you,” he said. Hermione hesitantly stepped inside and surveyed the familiar room. Small tables lined the outer part so patrons could look out the windows. About six other people were eating in at the time, all of whom stopped and stared as Scorpius pressed his nose against the glass above the ice cream flavours.

“Fortescue’s has the best blueberry ice cream,” Draco said, also with his nose nearly against the glass. “Right, Trace?”

Tracey Davis popped her head overtop the ice cream counter. Hermione studied her for a moment; Tracey was quite tall and thin, like her husband, and her hair was pulled back in a bun. She was smiling, though, which had to count for something.

“Draco!” she shouted. “… and Granger?” she added.

“Hi,” Hermione said hesitantly. “You, um, you work here?”

“Theo and I own the parlour,” Tracey replied. “I remembered coming here as a kid and wanted to fix it up. Didn’t have much else to do. The place was in rotten shape after the war so I renovated it, modernized a bit because Florean hadn’t updated in a hundred years. Theo had the money so I just did it,” she shrugged.

“Trace is responsible for all of Theo’s practical decisions,” Draco teased.

“Speaking of my husband,” Tracey said, her smile widening, “I have a surprise for you.”

“Do you now?” Draco asked. “Is it a new flavor? Because I had the most amazing combination in New York—”

Suddenly, two small little blurs flew out from behind the counter and attacked Draco’s lower half. The little brown-haired girl on the right looked just like Theo while the boy on the left, presumably her brother, had slightly rounder features but was also definitely Theo’s son. Five years old or thereabouts, they each clung to one of Draco’s legs like they would never let him leave.

“DRACO!”

“UNCLE DRACO!”

“WE MISSED YOU SO MUCH!”

“YOU MISSED OUR BIRTHDAY!”

“DAD SAID YOU WERE ON A SECRET MISSION!”

“MUM SAID YOU COULD DIE! I’M HAPPY YOU’RE NOT DEAD!”

Draco knelt down and tugged them both into a hug.

“Merlin’s beard, I missed you both so much!” he said. He gave them each a kiss on the forehead. “Wait, your mum said what?”

“We wasn’t supposed to hear,” the little girl said quietly.

“Well, it’s never stopped you before,” Tracey said. “Scarlett, Seb, say hello to Hermione, please.”

The twins ignored her and continued to hound Draco with questions. He smiled at them and answered every one until the boy finally asked,

“Who’s she?”

“Her name is Hermione.” A new voice came from behind the counter. “Do you want to talk to her like proper children or are you going to keep interrogating Draco?”

Hermione waved to Theo and then the twins. She smiled a little awkwardly and said, “Hi.”

“Hello!” they answered in unison. Draco took to introducing them.

“This little one here is Sebastien. Future chess champion and can already kick my arse at it. Then this one is Scarlett, my favourite little girl in the whole world.”

She smiled like Draco had just told her Christmas was coming early that year and Hermione’s stomach fell a bit. The twins looked at Draco like he was their second father and she envied it. She knew Draco had a life before her but it was so … _separate._

_They have four years with him that we don’t. How can Scorp and I compete with that?_

Hermione’s thoughts were interrupted as Tracey walked around the counter and squealed.

“Oh my God! Draco, you have the most adorable baby I have ever seen.” Scorp preened as Tracey reached out to hold him. Hermione reluctantly handed him over.

“She says it right in front of Sebastian and Scarlett without shame,” Theo quipped from his place behind the register. “Granger, nice to see you again. And to see you two finally figured out you have been dating this entire time.”

“Oh, sod off, Nott,” Draco teased. “You are simply jealous your kids like me better than they like you, right?” he asked. The kids, Scarlett and Sebastien, nodded. Theo groaned in faux-distress.

“Traitor children! Off to Azkaban with the both of you!” Theo said before throwing his hands in the air and walking away. “Scorpius is my favourite child now. You two can live with Draco and I’ll take his snowman baby.”

They cheered at that and Draco grinned. He seemed more at home in the ice cream parlor than he had any time since his return. Like he had finally found a hint of normalcy in the twins.

“How’s your mum, Draco?” Tracey asked, holding Scorp against her hip. Draco ran a hand through his hair before he answered.

“She is well. Loves Scorp, obviously but it has been strange being back. Aside from everything with,” he waved a hand in Hermione’s general direction, “she still carries guilt from four years ago. Or, bloody hell, I suppose it is nearly five now.”

“Was it odd for you, being at Blaise’s wedding?” Tracey asked. “Theo said it was great, but I can’t help but think it must have been difficult given everything.”

Draco shook his head.

“I loved it. Mother did as well since she got to host a wedding for the first time. But there is nothing there anymore, Trace. Once you see Blaise and Dean in the same room it is impossible to believe they could be with anyone else.”

“That’s true!” Theo chimed in, running behind the counter as more patrons entered the store. “Blaise melts into a puddle any time Dean enters the room. Dean could ask him to buy Buckingham Palace and Blaise would make it happen. Are you three going to order something or not?”

“Two blueberries,” Draco said. He turned to Hermione and insisted, “You must try the blueberry.”

Hermione held back a gag. Being a decent girlfriend meant obliging Draco’s little quirks, whether that meant cracking his knuckles or strange ice cream flavours. But it felt like … Well, it felt like Draco was introducing Hermione to his family. She went to save a table and Scarlett took the seat across from her.

“Draco is my favourite uncle,” she said.

“Do you have many uncles?” Hermione asked, aware Theo was an only child.

“Uncle Blaise, Uncle Bastien, Uncle Ernie, Uncle—“

“Yes, I see,” Hermione said. “Why is Draco your favourite?”

“Because he talks to Dad when he is sad and Dad gets happy again,” Scarlett said. “And he always gives us sweets when Mum isn’t looking. And he took us to ride brooms!”

Hermione smiled.

“I really like him, too.”

“Will you marry Uncle Draco?” Scarlett asked. Hermione leaned forward and whispered,

“One day, I hope so, because I love him very much. But you have to promise not to tell him.”

Her eyes got very wide and she nodded.

“What do you like to do?” Scarlett asked.

Hermione pretended to think about it before saying, “I like to read. And I really, really like to sleep.”

Scarlett smiled and shouted, “Me too! What’s your favourite colour?”

“Blue,” Hermione answered. Scarlett’s eyes went wide.

“Me too!” She lowered her voice to a whisper and said, “Is okay if you marry Uncle Draco. I like you. He could make Dad happy, but Uncle Draco is never happy. Can you make him happy, Herm-nee?”

Hermione held out her arms and Scarlett came over to give her a hug.

“I don’t know, Scarlett. I don’t know if I can make him happy but I promise I am going to try, alright?”

Scarlett let go and nodded just as Sebastien returned with one small cup of blueberry ice cream. Hermione took it, thanked him, and both kids scurried back to help Theo with the register. Hermione scooped some of the ice cream and gagged so forcefully she could barely swallow.

“Oh, no!” Draco said, plopping into the seat Scarlett had just vacated. “Do you not like the blueberry?”

Hermione shook her head and groaned, “Mmmh-nhmph. I’m sorry Draco, but this is complete rubbish.”

He sighed and let his shoulders fall.

“That’s it, then. This relationship must end; the blueberry ice cream is non-negotiable. Go back to the manor, pack your things—”

“I’ll take your Yankees hoodie with me,” Hermione quipped back. Draco raised an eyebrow.

“You win. I am never giving up the hoodie.”

Tracey sat down at their table, still holding Scorpius. One glance had Hermione’s stomach in knots. She wondered when those nerves would fade, when she’d stop having this feeling of illegitimacy. Being a Muggle-born, it seemed like anyone else could be just as good a mother, just as believable a mother to Scorp if not more so. She felt like a visitor in Draco’s life, a passerby in comparison to Theo and Tracey … and Blaise and even her own pharmacist.

Hermione put down the ice cream bowl and took Scorpius from Tracey’s arms. Tracey sighed wistfully and said,

“Even at school you two always brought out the worst in each other. It was only a matter of time before you figured some way to bring out the best. Then we saw you at the ball last month and, holy hell, that was—“

“MUM!” Scarlett shouted from behind the counter.

“You said a bad word!” Sebastian added.

“Mum is allowed to say bad words when speaking about Uncle Draco,” Tracey shouted back. She lowered her voice and added, “Because Uncle Draco does stupid things like going to New York City for a year and leaving his godchildren.”

“Trace—“

“I know why you did it, Draco. I get that you did, I understand you were fixing Theo’s mistake. We are both grateful for it, truly, you must know that.”

“I know,” Draco nodded.

“But it doesn’t change the fact that my kids saw you every week for the first four years of their lives, then nothing. There were nights they fell asleep crying because they thought you didn’t love them anymore.”

Draco stared down at his shoes and Hermione had half a mind to slap Tracey across the face. How could she comfort him after hearing something like that? Draco grit his teeth and glared at Tracey before he responded.

“I missed the first five months of my son’s life!” He paused for a moment to gather himself. “It was probably best for him that I did; he ended up with Hermione because of it, but I was not here for him. I know I was absent for Seb and Scarlett, too, but it was Theo’s fault I had to be there.”

“He was working for you father,” Tracey countered.

_What?!_

“And lost it!” Draco hissed. “He lost one of the most dangerous weapons in the world and I had to go get it back! I am going to spend the rest of my life fixing the mistakes of my father so Scorpius will not have to deal with that stigma. It is not my responsibility to care for your family, Trace. I do it because I love you and I love the twins, but I love my son more. I love Hermione more.”

_Oh._

_Say that again a little louder._

_Maybe shout it into the street so everyone knows._

**.oOo.**

Draco and Hermione had the manor to themselves on Valentine’s day.

Narcissa was with the Grangers, Scorp with Blaise and Dean, so the only interruption came from Tippy. She got the message quickly, though, and stayed away once they walked into Hermione’s study. They sat across from each other with a bottle of Firewhisky on the table between them, six small glasses in front of Hermione and six in front of Draco.

“One drink every time something surprises you,” he said, filling each glass almost to the brim. “Same for me.”

Hermione smiled since Draco didn’t realize what he was getting himself into. She expected a candlelit dinner since that’s what Ron did on Valentine’s, but found she liked this better. He hadn’t even dressed up, clad in jeans and a light blue jumper, nestled into the chair with one leg tucked beneath him. A casual night at home without interruptions? It sounded heavenly.

Draco waved his hand and an envelope appeared.

“Do you know who sends the invitations for the Hogwarts Alumni Gala?”

Hermione groaned and said, “That’s coming up again, isn’t it? I think Romilda heads the planning committee, why do you ask?”

Draco snickered.

“Because the invitation is addressed to ‘Mr. and Mrs. Hermione Granger.’ I assume it’s referring to the two of us, unless McLaggen really has captured your fancy.”

Hermione leaned back in her chair and asked, “Why are you doing this?” She waved her hands at the setup in front of them.

“Because there must be something I can do better than you,” Draco teased. He sat the Firewhisky bottle on the edge of the table and put the invite on the arm of his chair. “Unless you are particularly good at holding your liquor as well.”

“I am well-acquainted with Firewhisky, if that’s what you’re asking. You should have chosen hair gel application,” Hermione teased. “You have a knack for it.”

Draco looked wistfully over at the bottle before saying,

“I do have motivation for this. I, um,” he fidgeted a bit, “I want you to ask all the questions you have for me. Dean said that—”

“Dean?!” Hermione groaned. “I can’t talk to anyone in confidence.”

“Not true,” Draco insisted. “Potter #2 would never tell me anything. However, I want you to ask me all the questions you have because I want to be as much a part of your life as you are of mine. You keep your distance from me and I hate that. This is my attempt to fix it.”

_Oh._

“I get to ask a question and you’ll answer it honestly?” Hermione asked.

Draco nodded and she asked before she could think better of it.

“Is Blaise the only person I have to worry about?”

Draco blinked and his eyebrows scrunched together.

“The only person you have to … What the hell are you worried about?” Hermione shifted awkwardly in her seat and reached for the bottle, but Draco swiped it. “No! Tell me what you mean!”

“The sex, Draco!” Hermione shouted reflexively. She sighed. “You’ve had sex with many people.”

“Yes,” Draco shrugged. He asked, “Is that a problem? For you, is it just me and Weasley?”

Hermione laughed and said, “No.”

Draco raised his eyebrows in surprise. He glanced down at the table, picked up a glass, and downed it. He wiggled his nose as it burned his throat and Hermione found it kind of adorable.

“Do tell,” he said.

“Viktor Krum,” Hermione admitted. “Ron and I broke up for a bit after eighth year.”

“So me, Weasley, and an international Quidditch star,” Draco summed it up.

“Alexander Flamel during a research trip and one very interesting night with the Swiss Minister for Magic,” Hermione added.

“Wow, that is definitely a story you are going to share,” Draco said with an excited smile. He took one shot glass in each hand and downed one right after the other. He shook his head and exhaled loudly as he forced the last bit down. “What do you want to know?”

“Blaise says you use sex as a substitute for real intimacy. If we have a massive row, do I need to worry about you going to someone else?” Hermione asked.

Draco paused for a long while.

“Pans and I had sex in third year,” Draco said. Hermione took her own shot glass and knocked it back. She focused on the pain travelling slowly down her throat. There was a hint of cinnamon and Hermione moaned her approval. Draco laughed and Hermione immediately wanted to hear that sound again. He sounded so open, so … so …

_In love. He sounds like he is in love and, odd as it may be, I am really proud of that._

“Figured I should start at the beginning,” Draco said. “Neither of us found it enjoyable, Pans for obvious reasons. Scared the hell out of me it was so awful. You know, when I began to figure out I like men in a less traditional sense I clung to the notion that I still like women. I thought if I pretended to be straight I was only living half a lie.”

“When did you know? If you don’t mind my asking,” Hermione said. Draco rolled his eyes.

“Hermione, I appreciate you trying to be sensitive but sex is an easy topic for me. Like Quidditch, it is something you can practice and get good at and my family has always been very open about it. Now if you want to ask about Sectumsempra or my time in America or this,” Draco raised his left arm a bit, “then you need to be delicate.”

“Okay,” Hermione said. “Then when did you know?”

“I should have known when I was eleven,” Draco replied. He looked up at the ceiling, recalling a specific memory. “Blaise told us he is gay in November of first year—his twelfth birthday. After that I looked at him differently—I wanted him to want me. I should have known then.”

“When did you know?” Hermione repeated.

“I ditched Pans at the Yule Ball and snogged one of the Beauxbatons boys behind some bushes,” Draco replied. Hermione couldn’t hold back a laugh before knocking back her second shot.

“I thought it was going to be something deep or dark, very moody. Snogging behind the bushes is not very Draco Malfoy.”

“You’d be surprised,” Draco admitted, suddenly very interested in his twiddling thumbs. “After that I had another go with Pans and it was even worse than the first time. I did nothing until seventh year when Bastien gave me a good job. That was when I started using sex as a substitute for love because everyone hated me in seventh year. I was terrified every moment and there was one time I was negligent with a Muggle girl. We were both sozzled and that is why Blaise took the Vow. I was afraid I had fathered a child and if I died someone needed to protect him.”

Hermione swirled the liquid in her third glass around for a few moments before tipping her head back. She exhaled heavily and asked,

“What about after the war?”

“One-nighters, mostly when I needed someone,” Draco admitted. “I was afraid if I ever trusted someone enough to enter a relationship again it would end just like it did with Blaise. Or maybe even worse.”

“But you’re here right now,” Hermione observed. “So why do you trust me?”

“Because you always want to do the right thing,” Draco replied. “As long as I am the right person for you, you will be here. If you leave then it must be my fault and I will do everything I can to ensure I do not make that fatal mistake. I love our little family, Hermione. Scorp will have loving grandparents, loving friends, a stable home without a homicidal madman running around … I have been back three months and it is the best three months of my entire life.

Hermione smiled. It had been a good three months for her, too. She thought about taking another shot, but Draco’s assessment no longer surprised her. If anything, Hermione believed he thought too highly of her. But there was one thing bothering her and if there was ever a time to ask …

“Are you afraid sex with me will get boring?”

She expected Draco to laugh or shake his head like it was ridiculous. Instead, he took another shot. He finally looked at Hermione again and said,

“No.”

“I fear you won’t want to be with me because sex with me could get rather dull.” She paused for a moment before amending, “Cyclical, I mean. Repetitive. The same.”

Whatever Hermione expected it certainly wasn’t confused laughter.

“Don’t speak to me as though it’s ridiculous,” Hermione said. “It’s not.”

“It is,” Draco insisted. “It is! Because I am not that sort of person, Hermione! You are the most important person in Scorp’s life. Not me, not my mother, not your parents, not Blaise. You could be the worst shag I’ve ever had and I would still love you because I care about what you have done for my son. What you will do for him. How the hell do you still believe I am so awful?”

“Not awful, just … I don’t want to be your Ron,” Hermione admitted as Draco downed shot number five. “I don’t want you to stay with me because you think you should. Intimacy is important to you and if I stop being interesting … If I become too familiar …”

Something in Draco’s expression shifted. His gaze moved from Hermione’s eyes down toward her lips. He slid forward a bit in his chair and leaned in.

“I want you to be familiar,” he said.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Hermione rolled her eyes. Her heart quickened its pace as Draco’s eyes flitted back up to her own.

“I want there to be mornings in bed when slow kisses turn into your hand beneath the hem of my sleep trousers because you know what I need. I imagine being overtop of you after a long day, knowing what you want from me. I’d be inside of you before we even have your shirt off because I hardly need to think about it anymore. Years from now I want to know you will be there when I wake up without having to ask.”

Hermione stopped breathing. She grabbed another glass and downed it before sputtering into a coughing fit. She felt Draco’s gaze the entire time. She composed herself and said,

“Tell me about Astoria.”

Draco returned his attention to his thumbs.

“What about her?”

“What was she to you?” Hermione asked. “Why she was so important?”

Draco swallowed thickly and admitted, “Theo and Bastien are my best mates, but they always thought I was overemotional. Blaise is my … My …” He trailed off, unable to find a sufficient word. “Blaise is more. He is my confidant, the person I would trust with my life. With my son’s life. After our relationship ended I still loved him so I could not go to him when I needed a friend just to listen.”

“That’s where Astoria came in,” Hermione guessed. Draco confirmed it with a nod.

“I was always around the Greengrasses since they were part of the Sacred Twenty-eight. I had many issues trying to revive the manor and going undercover for the Auror Office; Astoria was always there to listen. No matter what sort of day she had, she would hear me out. The day before I left for America I panicked and went to Astoria for advice. I fell back on old habits and she obliged me just the once.”

Hermione knocked back shot number five.

“Thank you,” she said. “I feel better knowing how you felt about her, but I think what makes me feel best is that you answered the question.”

“You are my girlfriend, aren’t I supposed to answer your questions?” Draco asked. Hermione was tempted to laugh but Draco’s tone conveyed he thought might be oversharing. “I believe this relationship will last awhile and that is why I want to answer. I want you to know it all because if you are still here after the shit I have been through, everything I have done … You are my family. And I want that, I want it so much.”

“I want to be with you for a long time,” Hermione replied, punctuated by an awkward cough. She hadn’t intended to say that out loud, but the look in Draco’s eyes was so nervous. After all this time he was still afraid to be completely vulnerable.

“I never really look forward,” she admitted. “The war burned it out of me, running through the woods one day at a time. If there is a problem to be solved today I can’t waste time trying to fix tomorrow. But I also know how good you make me feel. I don’t have to worry that being myself or doing what I want to do in life hurts you. I know when I come home I have you, and Scorp of course, but I have you … Draco, I just want to see you when I come home. I want to start and end every day with you.”

He smiled at that. Hermione realized how ridiculous her thoughts were the week before. Theo’s family and Blaise’s family weren’t competition. For Draco they were just a blueprint, a way to learn about family before he stumbled into his own.

Draco and Hermione each grabbed their final glass and clinked them together.

“To every day,” Draco said.

“To every day.”


	29. Strike Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An eventful lunch, a gala, and a plot twist for dessert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place at the end of March then three weeks later in the middle of April.

Ginny was nearly six months pregnant at the end of March. No one really knew who set up lunch, it was one of those parties that just happened. Blaise said the words “on the house” and everyone met up for girls’ lunch on Saturday.

“We decided on a name,” Ginny said. “Well, I let Harry choose again.”

There was a chorus of disbelieving groans.

“I would have thought after Al you had learned better,” Hermione said.

“Salazar?” Pansy guessed. “Or Rita, if it’s a girl. That’s it, Rita Dolores Potter.”

“Lily Luna, actually,” Ginny said, answered by a collective “aaw.”

“You have a big family,” Katie observed, “do you like it?”

Ginny shrugged.

“I wish Harry was home more. He’ll never admit it, but he hates the Auror Office. Is it selfish if I want someone else to protect the world now? Hasn’t he done enough?”

_Yes. Harry should get some time to rest._

“You should tell him that,” Angelina insisted. “Three kids is a lot to handle on your own.”

“I can hardly handle one,” Hermione quipped. She took a small bite of her omelette, not particularly hungry. She felt everyone’s gaze and looked up. “What?”

“Don’t you want … I mean, Scorpius isn’t really … ” Angelina trailed off. Katie took an alternate approach.

“Does Draco want more kids?”

Hermione’s face pinched.

“We haven’t talked about it. We, um, we’re taking things one day at a time. Anything more than that is too much.”

“I say we leave Hermione to it,” Pansy said. “She doesn’t need the rest of us prying into their love life.”

Minutes went by without further mention of Draco and Hermione nodded to Pansy in gratitude. There was some semblance of normalcy as Ginny ordered another entrée and Alicia mentioned she was trying to lose all the weight she had gained with baby Rose. Ginny shot Hermione a knowing look and said,

“You know, naming the child Rose was actually Hermione’s idea.”

 “Oh,” Alicia said. “Ron never mentioned—”

“It’s fine, Alicia,” Hermione sighed. “I don’t have claim over a name, I don’t have claim over any part of Ron. Your baby is healthy and you’re happy and that is what matters.” Hermione glanced at Romilda who had hardly said a word the entire meal. “Are you alright?”

Romilda shook her head.

“I,” she anxiously cleared her throat, “I’ve been seeing someone. It was just shagging. We met up every-other week for a bit. Then it became every week, then we started going out as friends before shagging, and now he wants to be my boyfriend. I’ve never had anyone want to date me before.”

“That scares you,” Katie said.

Romilda nodded.

“Why?” Ginny asked. “Is he someone we know?”

“Perhaps,” Romilda replied before downing her drink in one go.

“You should know that it’s completely fine to keep things private. Just because Pans here likes to shout all about our life to the entire bloody world—”

“I tried to take out an ad in the _Prophet_ when she agreed to go out with me the second time,” Pansy teased. “I was quite happy to see we only received one invitation to the Alumni Gala. Felt more official that way, you know?”

“Mr. and Mrs. Hermione Granger?” Hermione asked Romilda with a huge smile. “Draco laughed at that.”

“I thought he might,” she replied.

“Draco Granger—doesn’t have the right ring to it, does it?” Hermione asked, her nose scrunched in displeasure.

“Hermione Malfoy on the other hand …” Pansy insinuated without finishing the thought.

“Oh, she would never,” Alicia insisted. “We all know she’s only with him because of Scorpius.”

Hermione blinked. Blinked again.

“Sorry, what?”

“Oh come off it, Hermione, we’ve been friends for years. You never had any attraction to Malfoy in school, you hated him, and now you’re suddenly taken with him?” Alicia asked.

“Yes,” Hermione huffed, “yes, I am quite taken with him, in fact. And I am tired of having to defend my boyfriend to all of you!” Hermione angrily stood up and tried to bite back the vitriol crawling its way up from her heart and out of her mouth.

“Not one of you judged Katie for dating Pansy! No one judged you, Alicia, for hooking up with your best friend’s ex-fiancé! No one looked down at Ginny for marrying Harry, her boyfriend she met at age ten! Dean can marry Blaise on a goddamn whim but Merlin forbid that I fall in love with Draco! So when Romi sits here and doesn’t want to tell all of you about the man she’s dating, maybe it’s because we can hardly see you all the way up there on your self-anointed pedestals.”

Hermione turned to walk away and crashed into a hostess. Hermione steadied the young woman by the shoulders and apologized. The hostess smiled and held up a berry-scented drink which had miraculously not spilled during the stumble. There was a note next to it on the platter.

“Compliments of the woman at the bar.”

Hermione glanced over to see a vaguely familiar woman with short blonde curls waving at her from the bar. She was very pretty and Hermione had seen that woman before. B _ut where?_ She picked up the note which read:

** STRIKE 2 **

When Hermione looked up the woman was gone. She crumpled the note in her fist.

_Why the hell are you following me?!_

Before Hermione could allow her thoughts to travel any further, Alicia stood up from her chair and started to apologize. Hermione rolled her eyes and tossed the note onto the table.

“Please, Alicia, spare me your pity. Every time Draco takes me to see his friends, he looks even more at home. He is happy with them, he is so happy to have people who care about him even a fraction of how much he cares for them. And they all like that we’re together. Then I come out with all of you and every time it’s just dancing around the subject of Ronald and insulting Draco. I sit here and look forward to going back home to my son and my boyfriend. That’s exactly what I intend to do.”

So she left.

**.oOo.**

Hermione ran a hand along the seam of the dress hanging in her closet. Her fingers trembled.

“Why are you nervous?” Draco asked, perched on the side of Hermione’s bed. She turned and asked,

“Why aren’t you? You’ve never gone to the gala.”

“A party where I get to see my friends and hold your hand the entire time? Oh, the torture, Hermione. How ever shall I survive?”

“This is different,” Hermione insisted. “My friends will be there and I just feel so alone when I think about everyone else and their families.”

“Alone?” Draco asked, offended.

“Because they still judge me,” Hermione replied. “Even Ginny, I know she secretly wishes I had made it work with her brother. If it is not me leaving Ron, it’s choosing you. I don’t regret either of those things, but I wish it wasn’t so hard. I am nervous that if we don’t look happy enough or in love enough it will never go away. Is there always going to be doubt?”

Draco stood up and quickly kissed Hermione on the cheek.

“Never from me,” he replied before heading back to his room.

Hermione slid the dress off the hanger and again threaded the material between her fingers. Pansy had done a remarkable job, worth every Knut and more. The halter top was a sheer black, the bust covered by embroidered flowers with a jam-coloured skirt that fell to the floor. Hermione asked for sexy and Pansy delivered, but if she was honest with herself it wasn’t to impress her former classmates, it was to impress Draco.

Once she had her dress on and her hair up, Narcissa knocked on the door. Hermione shouted for her to enter and waved the door to the nursery shut.

“Scorpius is with your parents and I brought the piece you asked for.” Narcissa produced a small velvet box. “I must confess my surprise at your selection. It lacks a certain …”

“Subtlety?” Hermione guessed.

“Precisely,” Lady Malfoy agreed.

“I chose it because I want everyone to know where my heart is without having to tell them.” Hermione snapped her fingers and huffed, “Alicia said everyone knows I am only with Draco because of Scorp, but that’s not true! I don’t love him because he’s Scorp’s father. I love him because my success does not intimidate him and when I am afraid of failure he is always there to push me forward. He is everything I could want in a boyfriend, a father for Scorp, a friend, a shag, a hus—”

Hermione cut herself off but Narcissa’s face telegraphed that she knew exactly what Hermione had intended to say.

“If I had raised my son in accordance with the new ways perhaps the two of you would have had a better beginning. We would have gotten to this point sooner, avoided so much pain for the both of you. I can only affect the future now, no use in relitigating the past and it is a miracle you arrived here at all. After Lucius made that fatal mistake with Draco, forcing him out of the manor and tearing my family apart, I never thought I would see my son smile at me again.”

“He does love you,” Hermione insisted. “Draco still keeps some of his emotions inside, though, and I am rubbish at deciphering them.”

Narcissa, with teasing eyes, took Hermione’s face in her hands.

“You are not the only one to have asked for a specific piece of jewelry, Hermione. Your hearts are in the same place.”

And then she left.

That certainly didn’t make Hermione’s hands tremble any less. She opened the box and her breath stuttered a moment. It was a beautiful piece, a hundred years old according to Narcissa. Hermione gathered herself enough to wrap the silver dragon around and through her left ear. She exhaled slowly as the door to Scorp’s nursery opened again. Draco wore a slim black suit with a pocket square the same colour as Hermione’s skirt.

“Are you nervous I will not live up to the expectations of your friends?” he asked. “Or are you afraid you won’t be able to paint an accurate portrait of what we are?”

Hermione groaned.

“I hate when you do that.”

“Do what?” Draco asked.

“Read my mind,” Hermione replied. “No looking in my teacups—you might find a Grim!”

“It is not Divination Hermione, you are just predictable.” Draco held up his hand to silence the retort Hermione had already partially formed. “Your friends are never going to like me, you know it, you hate it, and you want to prove them wrong because if you don’t then it makes you a failure. Yes?”

“Oh, fuck off,” Hermione groaned again. Her stomach was in knots so she stood and asked, “Are you ready to go?”

Draco shook his head.

“You look marvelous, but I have been thinking about our agreement to take things as they come. I know it may not be what you want, but I love you so much I want to plan for a future together. Scorp’s birthday is little more than a month away, yet—” He stopped speaking and closed the distance between them. He gently patted Hermione’s cheek and turned her head to the side. “Did you ask my mother for this?”

Hermione swallowed hard and nodded. When she eventually spoke she was so anxious that her voice cracked.

“To hell with discretion.”

She was shocked when Draco kissed her. It was rough and instinctive, as though the rational part of his brain disappeared when he saw the dragon wrapped around Hermione’s ear. She pushed him back and waited for Draco to blink himself back to full consciousness.

“We have no time; your mother is waiting.”

“She can go without us,” Draco insisted, wrapping his fingers around her waist. “As lovely as this dress is, I would prefer to see it on the floor.”

“Oh no, you look far too dashing to stay in,” Hermione teased. She ran her thumb across his bottom lip and said, “You are fortunate my lipstick didn’t transfer.”

Though perhaps it would have been better if it had. Hermione could stake her claim over Draco in another way to make it clear she had the boyfriend she wanted. And, if Narcissa was to be believed, perhaps sometime in the future, the fiancé she wanted. The husband, the family, the life she desired.

All eyes were on the pair of them as they walked into the ballroom. The gala was well underway as Hermione and Draco’s nametags were some of the few remaining on the check-in table.

“Hermione!” Ginny shouted from behind. “I would hug you but my stomach is the size of four Bludgers right now.”

“Hi, Ginny,” Hermione smiled. “Sorry I haven’t seen you since—”

“Lunch,” Ginny finished.

“I don’t understand why we have to wear these,” Draco huffed. He brandished the nametag distastefully before pinning it on one of his lapels. “Is there anyone here who does not know who we are?”

“Very true, Malfoy, no one could mistake the glow of your hair for a normal wizard,” Harry chimed in.

“Think you’re funny, Potter?” Draco asked. He looked at Ginny’s stomach and asked, “How are things going with little Gilderoy Salazar?”

“Lily Luna,” Ginny corrected.

“Ah, my mistake, that is a lovely name,” he conceded. Draco waved his hand and said, “Here, I’ve fixed your nametag for you.”

Ginny read Harry’s nametag aloud.

“Undesirable No. 1?”

Draco pointed to his nametag which read, “Desirable No. 1.” Hermione and Ginny laughed before Harry changed it back. Ginny pulled Hermione to the side and said,

“I am sorry about lunch. I didn’t realize just how much everyone hates Malfoy. I think he’s great for you and I thought everyone else would begin to see it.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said. “I wish Alicia would see it. I really thought we could be friends again, but I’m beginning to believe that’s impossible.”

“When has anything been impossible for you?” Ginny asked.  Then Hermione spotted Romilda … with Lee Jordan’s arm around her shoulders.

“I knew it!” she shouted before making her way over to them, leaving Ginny smiling in her wake. She gave Romilda a long hug and said, “You look fantastic. So does your date.”

“Thanks, Granger. I didn’t know whether we would make it since someone took so long doing their hair,” LJ teased.

Romilda rolled her eyes and quipped, “Some of us take effort to look this good.”

LJ nodded to Hermione’s ear cuff and said, “I see you’ve gone full Malfoy.”

“That was the intent.”

And the rest of the party was just mingling. People talking to her or talking to Draco, rarely speaking to both of them since their social circles hardly coincided. Tracey apologized for her comments at Fortescue’s while Theo heckled Draco for having been “claimed” so openly by Hermione. Katie apologized for lunch, though Hermione insisted she had done nothing wrong. Angelina came over to apologize as well, and even gave Draco a hug for the trouble. Alicia, however, steered clear.

Draco had his hand on Hermione’s lower back most of the night, to stay close without being cumbersome. Sometime near ten one of the photographers asked to take their picture.

Draco stood on Hermione’s right side and just as the shutter clicked, leaned down to press a chaste kiss to her cheek. He whispered,

“I get to claim you, too.”

“Hermione Granger!” That voice thundered over the chatter. Kingsley Shacklebolt had more grey in his beard than Hermione remembered. She gave him a hug and he nodded to Draco. “Lord Malfoy, how are you this evening?”

“Well, Minister,” Draco replied.

“Good. Is he fine company, Miss Granger?”

“The best,” Hermione said with a smile. She took hold of Draco’s hand and said, “Our son is great as well. With my parents this evening, since Lady Malfoy elected to attend the party as well.”

“Ah, yes,” Kingsley said with a bemused expression. “Impossible to miss on a good day, Narcissa keeps asking me questions about when I plan to retire. Though, with this Revivalists mess, the image of a house on a beach keeps getting sharper in my mind. At any rate, I am off to speak with some of the Wizengamot. I think Honeycutt has gotten into the liquor …”

He departed and Hermione whispered, “Is your mother part of the seven-point plan to get me elected Minister?”

Draco laughed.

“No, that is all you.” He paused. “Well, mostly you, with a few well-placed bottles of Butterbeer and Galleons to smooth the way.” Before Hermione could lecture him on the immorality of bribes Draco spotted Bastien at the far end of the party. He grazed his lips across Hermione’s knuckles and said, “I’ll be back in five minutes.” Shortly after he departed she ran into the last person she wished to see.

“’Mione!” Ron said.

The worst part of it all was that Hermione’s heart still did a little leap. He had the same nervous smile as when they were together, the one Hermione had fallen in love with eleven years earlier. He looked very handsome with his hair done and dark blue dress robes, the very picture of what might have been.

“Ron,” she nodded curtly.

“I would ask if Malfoy made you wear that,” he nodded to the dragon around Hermione’s ear, “but I don’t think he could ever make you do anything.”

“You’re not wrong,” Hermione smiled. “I have some time if there is something you’d like to say.”

“There is, actually,” Ron said shuffling his feet for a moment. He took a deep breath and said, “You are one of my best friends. It’ll always be you and Harry because of everything we went through together … Our scars run deeper than everyone else’s. I love Alicia and I am very, very happy, but there is no way for her to understand what we went through.”

He paused for a moment. Hermione wasn’t sure whether she was supposed to reply or hug him or simply wait it out. She nodded for him to continue.

“After Christmas I thought about what you said. Alicia feels bloody terrible about lunch last month—”

“As she should,” Hermione interjected.

“And I thought what she said was out of line, as well,” Ron agreed. “Because I have seen you at your lowest point, Hermione, and not even Bellatrix Lestrange could break you. You are brave and the only reason you left me is because we wanted different things. I see that, and I know that you would never in a million fucking years settle for Draco Malfoy, so he must be something special. I look back at school now, look back at everything Malfoy went through, everything Harry told me about what he’s done since then. What he was really doing in America …” Ron trailed off for a moment and shook his head in disbelief. “I think maybe Malfoy’s scars run deeper than most. I hate him and I will never not hate him.”

“I appreciate your rousing endorsement, Ronald,” Hermione deadpanned.

“No! No, I mean, aw fuck,” he ran a hand over his face. “I just mean that even though I don’t like him I think I understand how he could work for you. How … I dunno, ‘mione. Bloody hell, my point is that I’m okay with you dating him. Not that you need my permission,” he was quick to say, “but I’ll be a bit less hostile. I miss you, I miss being able to be with the three of us—you, me, and Harry. I need that in my life.”

Hermione pulled him into a hug. He was so tall her eyes were barely at his shoulder, but she held him tightly.

“That is the nicest thing you could ever say to me.”

“Does that mean you forgive me?” he asked.

“Yes, Ronald, I forgive you,” Hermione said. She stepped back and smiled. “And I love Draco. Merlin’s arse, it feels so good to say that out loud, you know? He just feels right and everything right now is so good between us that—”

A bright orange flame appeared at the doorway and out stepped a tall woman with red hair that fell to her shoulders. Her bangs were chopped straight in the front just below her eyebrows and Hermione could never mistake that silhouette. Hermione slapped Ron’s shoulder and said,

“That’s Ivyna Mountcastle!”

Ron asked, “Why the hell would the President of MACUSA be here?”

Hermione’s stomach fell to the floor as President Mountcastle made her way toward the back of the room. Everyone’s heads turned toward her so Hermione finally answered,

“Because something has gone wrong.”

Hermione followed the open path through the crowd and watched as President Mountcastle stopped right where Hermione knew she would: in front of Draco.

“Ivyna!” he greeted her with a hug and an entirely-too-familiar touch on the cheek.

 _Only Draco Malfoy would shag both the President of MACUSA_ and _the fugitive he was helping her capture._

Once President Mountcastle started talking, however, Draco’s face fell into his worried expression. The one Hermione saw when he was debating whether to destroy the Time-Turner, the fear tinted with disbelief, self-doubt, and shame. Everyone was watching the two of them, including Hermione who felt like this was a conversation she wasn’t meant to intrude upon. So she gave them about twenty seconds before making her entrance.

“President Mountcastle?” Hermione said, offering her hand. “I’m—”

“Hermione Granger!” she shouted in reply. She had a very thick American accent Hermione couldn’t quite place. She pulled Hermione into a quick hug and said, “I am so delighted to finally meet you since we will be working closely together one day! In the meantime, I am so proud Draco has finally found a girlfriend to make sure he knows how much love he deserves.” When she pulled back Draco added,

“Ivyna, here, is a Seer. Tell Hermione what you just told me.”

President Mountcastle glared at Draco and he nearly wilted in the face of it. Hermione liked her immediately.

“We had been tracking all the Revivalists’ whereabouts at MACUSA, but four months ago we lost track of Jason Graves and Queenie Picquery.”

“Yes, I know.” Hermione nodded.

“Well, this afternoon I Saw them in London.”

_Oh, God, no._

Hermione started connecting pieces of the puzzle in her mind. She cursed herself for not seeing it before.

“May I see a picture of this Queenie person?” Hermione asked. Ivyna conjured up an old newspaper and pointed to a still photo. Right there on the page were the same brown eyes and blonde curls she had seen at the café with her parents and again at lunch with her friends.

“I’ve seen her,” Hermione said. If possible, Draco paled even more. “Back in February, and again three weeks ago. She said, ‘Strike one’ and ‘Strike two.’ What does that mean?”

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?!” Draco hissed. “If you saw—”

“I thought it was just someone … Someone … I have been a bit distracted the past few months!” Hermione insisted.

“I didn’t See anything about baseball, Draco,” President Mountcastle said. She Vanished the paper and said, “It must be a threat. I don’t know why I would See them today, but—”

Before she could even finish the sentence, Draco had his hand on Hermione’s arm and next thing she knew they stood outside her parents’ door. He didn’t bother knocking, just shouted, “Alohamora!” before barging into the Grangers’ house.

“MR. GRANGER?! MRS. GRANGER?! WHERE ARE YOU?!”

Hermione was beyond relieved to see her father make his way downstairs.

“What the hell have you done?” he asked. “Breaking into my home at this time of night?!”

Hermione went to hug him but Draco pushed her back. He drew his wand and pointed it at Mr. Granger’s heart.

“Name me the star at the heart of the Scorpius constellation.”

“Antares!” Mr. Granger said, holding his hands in the air. “What the hell, Draco? What is going on?”

“I need to see your wife and my son,” Draco replied. Mr. Granger went to fetch them so Hermione asked,

“What the hell are you doing?”

“I told you, Jace is a Metamorphmagus.”

_Oh._

Mrs. Granger came downstairs with Scorpius in her arms and Draco asked, “What is Blaise’s second name?”

“Alessio,” she answered. “What is going on?”

“I need to take my son back to the manor,” Draco said. “I will be back tomorrow to put protective wards around the house. Tonight, please, stay at a hotel. There are people out there after me, and by proxy Hermione. I don’t know if they are aware of Scorpius, but you need to stay away from places they know you will be.”

“Understood,” Mrs. Granger nodded. Her husband stood there, staring at his slippers. He sighed.

“Is Narcissa in danger?”

“No,” Draco insisted. “But you are should you remain here tonight.”

**.oOo.**

Hermione expected Draco to explode once they put Scorpius back in his crib. He followed Hermione into her room and gingerly shut the door behind them.

“I am sorry,” Hermione said. “I should have known sooner.”

Draco kicked the side of Hermione’s bed and doubled over in rage. He shouted out a string of curse words with vulgarity that would have made Ron blush.

“It is not your fault,” he finally said. Draco stood up and pushed his hair back. “This is between me and Jace. They know I stole the Time-Turner; it is the only reason for them to be here. I have put you in danger again! And have done the same to my son.”

“No, Draco. This isn’t your doing.”

“Then what is it?” he snapped.

“Darkness,” Hermione replied. She ran her fingers over his left forearm and repeated, “It’s Darkness in people. I don’t blame you for this, the blame is on them, on the people who would take you from me.”

“I love my son, Hermione. Scorpius is amazing—my blood, my family.” He made like he was going to touch Hermione but pulled back. His chest fell up and down rapidly as he said, “But God and Merlin himself would have cause to tremble if they so much as threatened you. The second Jace points his wand at you, he is a dead man.”

Hermione felt like she was going to be sick. Not only was Scorpius in danger, but so was Draco, and he was reckless. Faced with the possibility of losing him … Hermione couldn’t even fathom it.

_I don’t ever want him to leave me. I can’t even picture my life without him by my side anymore. Not having Draco to come home to? If Draco doesn’t get to see Scorp grow up, it will break me into a thousand tiny, irreparable pieces._

Hermione’s hands shook again as she pulled Draco down into a kiss. It was sloppy and hard. Their teeth clacked together and she tasted blood from Draco’s lip. Hermione cupped Draco overtop his trousers and he pulled back as his mouth formed a perfect O. He tugged Hermione close again and lightly bit down on the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

“I cannot be gentle tonight, Hermione,” he cautioned.

“I am scared,” she admitted. “I don’t need gentle, I need a distraction.”


	30. No Announcements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> President Mountcastle stops by and everything goes to shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a waitress recently whose name is Ivyna and that is where I got the name. It is pronounced "eye"-"vee"-"nuh."

The following Monday, Hermione Apparated back to the manor after work. It had been a long day, and Chief Healer Battlehunt had given her a decision deadline of July 1st.

_Take the job, take the job … But every time I consider taking it I feel further away from Scorpius._

Lady Malfoy dropped her teacup when Hermione appeared. Hermione winced at the sound of breaking china and the liquid staining the hem of Narcissa’s dress.

“Did you … Did you Apparate in here?” Narcissa asked. Hermione yawned with a nod.

“Yes. I know I am supposed to use the Floo, but I was so exhausted, and I just wanted to be back.”

“But you … You Apparated in here?” Narcissa repeated. It was the first time Hermione ever heard her express blatant confusion.

“Am I in trouble?” Hermione asked nervously. “Did … Did I do something wrong?”

“No, no …” Narcissa trailed off. “The wards, you understand … I will check them.”

She rushed off after that, leaving Hermione confused in her wake. Hermione was so exhausted that she spared it little thought and instead opted to change into more comfortable clothes. President Mountcastle was already waiting in the study, and Hermione was anxious to get some time with her before Draco arrived. She slid into the seat next to President Mountcastle and said,

“Draco should finish up with Scorp soon. Frustrating day for both of us, he probably went for a run in the gardens earlier. He does that,” Hermione added.

Ivyna Mountcastle was in the chair next to Hermione on the visitor’s side of Draco’s desk. Dressed entirely in black, Hermione silently noted she had never seen a visitor in Malfoy Manor who wore jeans.

“Are you in mourning for something?” Hermione asked.

“My will to live,” President Mountcastle said. She groaned. “Trans-Atlantic flights are the worst. I Apparated to the party last night immediately after getting off that plane. My most-wanted criminals are on British soil, the Congress is riding my ass about the proposed move, and I missed Opening Day trying to track these fuckers down.”

“Oh,” was all Hermione could think to say.

Ivyna rubbed her temples and said, “I wanted to be an astronaut.”

“Really?” Hermione asked, eyebrows raised. Ivyna clearly hadn’t missed her disappointed inflection. Ivyna leaned back in her chair and kicked a foot up on Draco’s desk. The air disappeared from Hermione’s lungs.

“Sally Ride,” Ivyna said with a smile. She was lost in a memory when she mentioned, “I was six when she became the first American woman in space. The most badass person to ever walk the planet. Or the space station. Being Muggle-born, my magic was numbers, science—the stars! And then when I turned eleven we got my letter from Ilvermorny.”

“I’ve never heard someone so disappointed to learn they’re a witch,” Hermione observed.

“We had an advanced program where I was doing algebra in fifth grade. I was ready, Hermione, I was going to be an astronaut like Sally Ride. That’s what I wanted to do more than anything.” Ivyna huffed and crossed her arms. “Then we got that goddamn letter and I was doomed to a life in the Wizarding world. You can’t Apparate to the fucking moon.”

“You … You would rather be a Muggle?” Hermione asked. Ivyna looked at her like she was insane.

“Of course!” she shouted. “Of course I would rather be a Muggle! No visions, no magic, just me and a giant rocket lifting me into space. Before my letter, my parents thought my visions were daydreams. Muggles are very adaptive, you know, trying all sorts of explanations for magical things except magic. See, you can’t be an astronaut if you black out at random intervals for minutes at a time, so magic ruined my life. Now I’m here in the land of Redcoats because some racist douchebag and his girlfriend are hell-bent on time travel. The universe should have left me to my rockets.”

She took a deep breath and kicked her other foot onto Draco’s desk. Hermione winced.

“But you have become President of MACUSA,” she insisted. “It is a real accomplishment. It’s my dream to become Minister for Magic, but you’ve already done it.”

“They elected me president because I am a Seer,” Ivyna quipped. “You want to get elected for your intellect, while I got elected because of my prophecies. That was two years ago, and then this whole Revivalists mess happened.”

“You didn’t See that coming?” Hermione asked.

Ivyna laughed.

“If only I had.”

They were quiet for several minutes. Hermione found it odd to have someone in their part of the manor. It was the one place Hermione could be free with Draco, unburdened by worry about what everyone else would think of their interactions. Harry was different; Harry was her friend. This was a complete stranger. A stranger to Hermione at any rate, since she didn’t seem nearly as strange to Draco.

“Ask me about him,” Ivyna said. “Aren’t you the least bit curious how we know each other?”

“I presume you knew him rather intimately,” Hermione said, picking at her nails, “and I do not need to hear about that.”

“Past tense,” Ivyna noted. “I meant what I said, by the way. I am happy Draco has found someone who can love him. He was so lonely when I met him; Queenie already had him enthralled by that point. Does he still believe she’s a good person?”

“Other than her support for bringing back Voldemort, yes,” Hermione admitted. “He speaks rather glowingly of their time alone together.”

Ivyna laughed.

“Yeah, he was so desperate to have someone like him. Not even love him, just to like him. Queenie was exactly what he wanted.”

“I hate her,” Hermione admitted.

“Me too,” Ivyna revealed. “She was my roommate at Ilvermorny. She was a great person, smart as hell, but then Jace came in and ruined her.”

“I hesitate to believe in redemption,” Hermione admitted, “but if Draco has taught me anything it’s that everyone deserves a second look.”

Ivyna sighed, smiled, and said, “God, you are amazing.”

“What?” Hermione asked. Ivyna shook her head.

“Draco is so fortunate to have you.”

“So I’ve been told,” Hermione mumbled. “Sometimes I feel it’s entirely the other way around. What is it like being a Seer? How accurate are you?”

“It’s a goddamn nightmare,” Ivyna said. “Literally. I have been wrong twice in thirty years.”

“Thirty years?” Hermione sighed. “You have been a Seer since you were little?”

“Since I was born,” Ivyna corrected. “Babies See things, too, though they can’t understand them. My mom used to play music to get me to sleep. Elvis, mostly, but she says I also had a thing for Earth Wind and Fire.”

Before Hermione could ask a follow-up question, Draco appeared in the doorway.

“Ivyna?!” Draco asked, suppressing a yawn as he walked into his study. Hermione couldn’t stop the smile spreading across her face when she noticed he’d elected to wear his Yankees hoodie. His hair was still drying—definitely in need of a cut once again—and he was wearing dark blue socks with little Snitches on them. Draco stopped abruptly when he saw Ivyna’s expression and asked, “What?”

“Get that garbage out of my sight,” Ivyna demanded. “Now!”

Draco rolled his eyes and moved to sit behind his desk.

“Ivyna is from Boston,” he said, as though it should have meant something. Though, Hermione realized it did explain the accent.

“We will win the World Series this year, Draco Malfoy, mark my words.”

_Baseball._

“You’ve been wrong before,” Draco teased.

“Stuff it, Draco,” Ivyna dismissed his criticism with a lazy wave of her hand. She lifted her legs off his desk and pointed a finger at him. “I flew nine fucking hours on a plane to get here because you’re a goddamn idiot who got his face splashed on a magazine cover next to the most well-known Muggle-born on the planet. You blew your cover! Now Jace and Queenie are here, and they know you took the Time-Turner. They want it back.”

“Ah, about that …” Draco said. Ivyna narrowed her eyes at him and he revealed, “I destroyed it.”

“Good,” she nodded.

“It would take Theo four years to make another one. Their plan is over, Ivyna.”

“You know what?” Ivyna said with pursed lips. “I think I’ll tell them that. I’ll just run right up to Jason and Queenie, give ‘em hugs, take ‘em out for burgers—you do have cheeseburgers in England, right? Then I’ll tell ‘em the past two years of their lives have been for naught and oh, by the way, you’re under arrest and wizards don’t get Miranda.”

Hermione was very lost. She was fairly certain all of that was English but didn’t quite get it. She asked, “Apologies, but who is Miranda?”

Ivyna turned and placed her hand overtop her heart.

“You are amazing. You should dump Draco and date me. I would marry you tomorrow.”

“Ivyna, if you could at least attempt to temper your crush on my girlfriend, I would appreciate it,” Draco said. Hermione blushed and smiled shyly down at the floor. He leaned back in his chair and said, “I am ready to discuss your plan.”

“We go public,” Ivyna said. She straightened up, fixed her bangs, and uncrossed her legs. Hermione was amazed at how such small gestures could complete the transformation from _Ivyna_ to _President Mountcastle_. “We publish their photos in the newspapers so they can’t go out in public. We monitor the Floo network and if they so much as sneeze into a fireplace we will catch them. However, you have to be careful in private spaces since Jace is a Metamorphmagus. We have intelligence that suggests he has been following you for weeks.”

“Weeks?!” Hermione shrieked. “I thought … I believed it was just that Queenie person.”

“He was near you both at an ice cream shop, and again with Hermione at something called Mr. Mulpepper’s. Right now their focus is the Time-Turner and Hermione is just a curiosity. However, if you were to make any announcements …” Ivyna turned to look at Hermione and repeated, “Any announcement. It could turn things in a very unfavourable direction.”

Hermione’s stomach seized up. She could hardly breathe and her heart beat so quickly a Snitch would turn green with envy. Hermione let her head fall forward a bit and she steadied her elbows on her knees. The room began to tilt; it felt like the world was rotating sideways and she was about to fall off her chair. Then Draco was there in front of her saying,

“Hermione? Hermione! Okay, Granger, I need you to listen to me, alright?”

She nodded.

“Good. I need you to breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth. You know how to do it, I believe in you, I need you not to panic right now.”

Hermione tried to get air in through her nose but sputtered after a second. Draco placed his hands on Hermione’s knees and said,

“Again, love.” And when Hermione stopped breathing it wasn’t entirely because of the anxiety. She eventually got her breath evened out enough so Draco was able to ask, “What happened?”

“He—he was near Scorp? He was near our son and I had no idea?” Hermione whispered. “Why are they following me?”

“Because they don’t understand how the Draco Malfoy they knew could fall in love with a Muggle-born,” Ivyna answered. Both Draco and Hermione glanced over at her. “If they realize the Time-Turner is gone, if they realize Draco double-crossed them not for his own gain, but for the government, this becomes so much worse. If they figure it out before we get to them, they will be out for blood and you become the target. Right now you are just a curiosity, and we need to keep it that way until we find them. So, as I said, _no announcements._ ”

**.oOo.**

Life in the manor was tense after that. An unknown, unspoken secret hung in the air even after President Mountcastle’s departure. Both Hermione and Draco were afraid to speak their fear aloud, as though verbalizing that Scorpius was in danger somehow made it tangible. Life went on like that for two weeks, pulling Hermione away from Draco and even further away from her son. She let Draco handle waking him up and putting him to bed. It just felt wrong to her; if she was a target she shouldn’t be anywhere near the people she loved. She knew that at age seventeen, and ten years later found it was no different. Hermione was lounging in Draco’s bedroom before dinner when she revealed her plan.

“I should leave,” she said. “If I am gone, you and Scorp are in less danger. Once they find out you destroyed the Time-Turner—”

“That is the most ridiculous suggestion you have made since that SPEW rubbish,” Draco quipped. Hermione warily watched as he loosened his tie.

“The Society for the Protection of Elvish Welfare was not rubbish!”

“House-elves are meant to serve wizards! Do you not think that after nearly ten centuries of servitude at least one of them would have spoken up?” Draco shouted back. The air between them was thick and Hermione knew she shouldn’t entertain this line of thought. She knew it, but she did it anyway.

“He did, and your father commanded him to iron his hands!” Hermione insisted.

“And who do you think paid the price when Dobby tricked his way into freedom, Hermione? Who do you think my father punished for not being as clever as Harry Potter?”

“Poor Draco Malfoy,” Hermione spat back. “What did he do? Take your broom away? Threaten to hex your hair purple?”

“It wasn’t—” Draco huffed and threw his hands in the air. “It does not matter. My point is that house-elves exist to serve.”

“According to whom?” Hermione asked.

“According to history!” Draco yelled, repeating himself. “Centuries of it.”

“Oh, and history has never been wrong,” Hermione quipped.

“Not about this!” Draco insisted.

They weren’t arguing about house-elves, not really.

“They aren’t Hippogriffs or Skrewts! House-elves speak our language, cook, clean, act like humans, Goblins, Giants, Veela—”

“They act like us, but that does not make them like us!” Draco said.

“Listen to yourself!” Hermione shouted. She stormed across the room until her nose was practically in Draco’s chest. “That is how Voldemort spoke about me, Draco!” He grit his teeth and Hermione dropped her shoulders. “That is how your whole world thinks about me.”

“Do not put this on me, Hermione! You are not a house-elf, you are a remarkable witch—”

“What if I was less remarkable?” she asked. “Would I still be above a house-elf if I was just the average Mudblood to you?”

“God, stop twisting my words!” Draco insisted.

“Fuck you, you arrogant prick!” Hermione spat. She turned away and stormed over to the door. Before leaving, she knew she should take a breath. She should clear her head, but instead she turned to say, “I thought you were different, that you had changed. I believed you were a good person but you’re only good when it suits you. Deny it all you want, but all house-elves deserve to be free. If you truly believe that racist dragon dung, then you are just like these people coming after us! So set in your ways, determined not to be swayed by logic.”

“Take that back,” Draco demanded.

“You’re commanding me now?” Hermione snapped.

“That is not what I meant!” Draco shouted. He slammed his fist on the bedside table and Hermione jumped.

“You really are like them,” she spat.

“Then leave,” Draco challenged.

“As you wish, Lord Malfoy. Shall I sleep in my own bed or would you prefer me to rest in the elves’ quarters?” Hermione quipped. She saw Draco dig his fingernails into the palm of his hand as he demanded,

“Get. Out.”

Hermione flung herself out the door and practically ran down the hallway. There were so many emotions that had built up and calcified within her over the past couple weeks. It weighed on her chest and arguing with Draco only made it heavier. She was near the stairs when Draco approached her.

“Hermione, wait!”

She ran downstairs.

“Hermione!” Draco shouted. “Hermione!” He was catching up when he shouted, “This is not about house-elves! Queenie and Jace are worrying you, right? Is that what this is about?”

Hermione stumbled to a stop and pressed her back against the wall. She was crying, ugly tears tracking their way down her cheeks. Her breath came in short bursts as she sobbed. Draco stood in front of her and waited. He didn’t appear upset or impatient, he just stood there until Hermione was ready to speak.

“This is different,” she finally said as she wiped her eyes. “I can’t just send Scorp to Australia. I hate being a danger to you and to my son. And his birthday is coming up! I’ve been his mum a full year and still don’t know how to protect him.”

“That is not true, Hermione,” Draco insisted. “We are protecting him every way we can.”

“What if it isn’t enough?” she asked. Draco opened his arms and Hermione hugged him ‘round the middle. He always smelled really nice. Very oaky, masculine, reassuring … Draco wrapped around Hermione like a blanket, shielding her from the world for a moment.

“I will never let them hurt you or Scorpius, I promise.”

Hermione sniffled and nodded as she pushed him away. She asked, “Are there wards around the manor you haven’t told me about?”

“No,” Draco shook his head. “There is no way for anyone, much less Jason bloody Graves, to get into Malfoy Manor without being invited. Except for the blood ward, I suppose, but that is common knowledge.”

“Not to me,” Hermione revealed. Draco went a bit pink around the ears.

“It’s … I mean, it is an ancient bit of magic, really. Completely prosaic.”

“What are you not telling me?” Hermione asked. “Is there a way to circumvent the spell? Because if there is, Draco, we need—”

“No! No, there is no way to circumvent the spell; it has warded the house for six centuries. The first protection spell cast on this place,” Draco revealed. “Just like at Hogwarts, no outsider can Apparate onto the grounds of Malfoy Manor. Only Malfoys can Apparate in and out, which is why you use the Floo.”

“Only Malfoys?” Hermione asked. “But your mother—”

“Malfoys by blood and marriage are equally valid. The manor is my house by technicality, but my mother has just as much claim to its magic as Scorp and I do.”

Hermione blinked several times before asking, “Has it ever been broken?”

“No, and it never will be. It is Olde Magyck, lost to us.”

Hermione felt the world tilt again and only wished it was a figure of speech. She placed a hand on the wall behind her for support. Draco placed a hand on her waist for support and that little eleven appeared between his eyes.

“What is wrong?” he asked.

“I don’t feel well,” Hermione admitted. “I think I’ll just, um, I’ll just go to bed early. Please tell your mother I apologize for missing dinner.”

Then Hermione bolted up the stairs and headed for her bathroom. She felt her stomach shrink to the size of a chickpea. There had to be another explanation, there simply had to be. The wards had been tampered with. Olde Magyck is not infallible. But Hermione knew her presumption was correct because Ivyna Mountcastle had said as much.

_No announcements._


	31. In The Shadow of Two Revivalists

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This is all on me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place in the first week of May in 2007.

The wards had to be broken.

Instead of going to the bathroom, Hermine headed to the manor library. There had to be another reason in there somewhere. She pulled down the three oldest books on the history of Malfoy Manor. Then she found books on Malfoy lineage and several referencing Olde Magyck; anything and everything that looked like it may have an answer she wanted. She spread them out on one of the long wooden tables and went to work.

Sometime around five in the morning Hermione concluded Draco was correct. Breaking the blood ward was impossible. The entire Malfoy property would need to be doused in Fiendfyre or the line would need to die out. Hermione tried every loophole she could think of and logicked her way out of every single one but the obvious.

The whole scenario was a nightmare. Hermione was struggling to protect one child, how could she possibly protect two? How could she be a mother of two? She certainly can’t be a mum of two and Healer-in-Charge, right?

“Aah!” Hermione yelped as she felt a hand on her arm. She blinked herself awake, unaware she had fallen asleep. Hermione squinted at the bright light streaming in through the library windows, wiped drool from the corner of her mouth, then looked up at Lady Narcissa. Because who else would it be?

“It is ten o’clock, Miss Granger,” she said. “I sent an owl to Chief Healer Battlehunt letting him know you would not be in today.”

There was something about Narcissa that threw Hermione off. Her tone wasn’t condescending or skeptical, it was delicate.

“You know,” Hermione guessed.

“The wards are impervious,” Narcissa agreed. “Since you and Draco have not eloped you must be—”

“Please, do not finish that sentence,” Hermione insisted. She put her forehead on one of the books. “I would rather pretend it isn’t true, if it’s all the same to you.”

“I confess, I had thought you more responsible than this,” Narcissa said. Hermione didn’t have the energy to feel insulted. “Perhaps after the Revivalists have been captured, then I would have expected it. Now, Draco has not one child outside of matrimony, but two!”

“Yes, a further stain on your Pureblood reputation,” Hermione replied bitterly.

“That was tarnished far before you came into my life, Miss Granger,” Lady Malfoy shot back. “Do not flatter yourself with such talk. I am happy to welcome another grandchild into my life and not even your cynicism will dampen this news for me.”

Hermione shook her head.

“No, no … Somewhere in these books there is another answer. Some reason I am able to break through the wards.”

Narcissa closed the book and sat in the chair across from Hermione. She waved her hand and the books replaced themselves on the shelves, leaving Hermione to stare at the empty table with an acute sense of hopelessness.

“My son has never done anything properly in his life,” said Lady Malfoy. “He did not intend to start a family, but you made it happen. You have brought all of us together and you fought very hard to do it, Miss Granger, but you will not have to fight this time. We will be here with you through it all.”

Hermione liked that, strange as it was coming from Narcissa.

“In an odd way, I admire you,” she admitted. “Draco changed because the world forced him to, but you came around because it is what’s best for us. Your first priority has always been Draco, and that is exactly how I want to raise my son.”

“Sons,” Narcisssa corrected. Hermione pulled her hair back and slid further down in her chair.

“I don’t know how this happened,” she said. “I’ve taken the same potion on the first of every month for years. I never had a problem before and nothing’s changed.”

“Something changed,” Narcissa observed, “though perhaps not on your end. Regardless, I must know when you plan to tell Draco.”

“When I have some answers,” Hermione replied. She left the library and finally made her way to the bathroom. She fell back into her morning routine: washing her face, brushing her teeth, everything felt normal. She would be okay, right? Those everyday things wouldn’t change. Then she opened the cabinet and grabbed the offending purple bottle.

It was half-empty after three doses in three months. She tipped the bottle over to see the familiar “M” for “monthly.” Hermione looked at the bottle and squinted hard at it because the label, it seemed, was on the back. She turned it around and saw the familiar Mr. Mulpepper’s stamp toward the bottom with “AFP” in silver lettering at the middle.

_Wait._

Hermione tilted the bottle backward and saw the familiar “M,” but upside down: “W.”

_Weekly._

“Hermione?”

She yelped and dropped the bottle into the sink where it shattered into four large pieces. She watched as the lavender liquid slowly trudged down the drain.

“Oh, damn,” Draco winced, leaning against the frame of the bathroom door. “I was just …” He trailed off and shrugged. “You never came to bed last night and I wanted to make sure you are okay.”

Hermione gripped the sides of the sink and said, “No.” She swallowed hard and repeated, “No, I am not okay.”

“Tell me what you need, and it’s done,” Draco replied. Hermione bit down on her lip to keep from smiling.

_You’ve done something, alright._

“I love you so much,” Hermione said. “I just need you to know that.”

“I do,” Draco said, not very convincingly. Hermione turned to look at him, exasperated.

“Last night you said you would never let Revivalists hurt me or Scorpius, but I can’t do this without you,” Hermione said. “I can’t be a parent without you. I certainly won’t be able to explain how the world took not one but both of Scorp’s parents away!”

Draco made his way over to Hermione, put his hand on the back of her neck and pressed their foreheads together. He sighed heavily, waiting for the courage to finally say what he had been unwilling to speak for so many days.

“Revivalists hurt people, Hermione, it is how they get what they want. Instead of going after me, they will come after you and Scorpius because they know it will hurt me more than anything. You have it in your head that you are the danger to him but that is not true, it is me. I started this the moment I agreed to. I live every day with your screams in the back of my mind and there is nothing I would not do to protect you from going through that pain again.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Hermione insisted. “President Mountcastle will find them and everything will be fine after that.”

Draco smiled wanly.

“Sure, Ivy will find them. She would stop at nothing to protect you,” he teased. Hermione laughed.

“I suppose our real problem, then, is what to do for Scorp’s birthday.”

“We should invite his friends over,” Draco said. “Give them sweets, put Scorp into one of those silly hats, and pretend everything is okay.”

Hermione nodded and he pulled on one of her curls. She grit her teeth and said,

“Draco, I have to ask you something.”

She walked into her bedroom and Draco followed, concerned but silent. Hermione wanted to tell him but Draco was already so frightened that adding this on top almost didn’t seem fair. Not when she could only give him more questions. Hermione scanned through her closet, moving hanger after hanger to one side until she found what she wanted. She pulled out a blouse and jeans and tossed them onto her bed. She decided to give it one try, but sort of back into it. One chance to tell Draco in a way that wouldn’t be quite so … _blunt._

“Do you want more children?” Hermione asked. Draco shrugged.

“I haven’t thought about it.”

“Is it because I’m Muggle-born?” Hermione asked. She tugged her shirt over her head and pulled on the blouse.

“That was very distracting, and no.” Draco ran a hand over his face, debating whether or not to say what he planned to say. “I have not thought about it because Scorpius was a complete shock. I found out about him seven months ago and I am still learning how to be a father. Not only that, but I …” He swallowed thickly. “What I am about to say is going to sound God-awful, and I am not trying to imply anything, not pressuring you into anything, I am just—”

“You’re rambling,” Hermione said. He cracked a couple knuckles in response.

“I want to keep to Malfoy tradition as much as I can for Scorp. It never mattered to me before but now it does. I want to be married before I even think about having another child.”

_Oh._

“If we were married, then?” Hermione asked. She couldn’t bear to look at Draco and picked some invisible lint off her jeans so he wouldn’t see her disappointed expression when he said,

“No.”

**.oOo.**

Hermione burst through the door of Mr. Mulpepper’s and headed straight for Bastien behind the counter. He smiled when he saw her coming.

“Hermione! I was wondering when you would be back.”

She slammed the repaired bottle onto the counter.

“You gave me the wrong dose.”

Bastien’s eyebrows knitted together. He ducked below the counter, pulled out his wand, and one small piece of parchment flew into his free hand. He slammed it on the counter.

“In the seven years you have been coming to me, have I ever given you the wrong dose?”

Hermione squinted at the parchment in front of her. It was definitely her handwriting. She recognized everything except the small checkmark in the box next to the word “Weekly.” Then her stomach fell to her toes.

“I checked the second box,” she realized aloud. “I did what I always do and I checked the second box.”

Bastien groaned.

“I told you we started stocking dailies!” he insisted. “Monthly is the third box now. Did you not read the form at all?”

“I’ve filled it out twenty times!” Hermione shouted back.

“Okay, I’ll give you another monthly for free,” he said. “Charge it to Blaise, since he never actually looks at his bill. Merlin, to be that wealthy—”

“Bastien, I don’t need another monthly,” Hermione said. He didn’t seem to hear.

“Though I expected you back in much earlier. This should only last you six weeks and you were in months ago. So how did you realize you were taking the wrong dose?”

Hermione glared at him. It was almost amusing to watch his face go from bright and enthusiastic, to recognition, to the open-mouthed disbelief and something that looked a bit like terror. He swallowed hard and lowered his voice to a whisper.

“You were in nearly three months ago. If you took this once a month for three months … That’s nine weeks you weren’t taking this.” Bastien raised a questioning eyebrow and Hermione confirmed it with a nod. “Forget that I am an apothecary for a moment. This is me, Draco’s best mate, asking you, Draco’s girlfriend, are you pregnant?”

“I might be,” Hermione answered.

Bastien walked around the counter and pulled her into a hug. Hermione hugged him back because she knew no one else would have such a moderate reaction. Bastien smiled down at Hermione and said,

“Congratulations! Draco never stops talking about how good of a mum you are to Scorpius. Every bloody time I see him it’s, ‘Listen to this amazing thing Hermione did.’ Of everyone in the world, I can’t think of anyone better to start a family with him.”

“I, um, I really don’t want to talk about it in public,” Hermione whispered. There wasn’t anyone else in the shop, but if the past was an indication there weren’t a whole lot of safe places for this conversation. “But thank you.”

Bastien stepped away and said, “This will be hard for him after what happened to Tracey and Astoria. If he ever needs a friend who, you know, hasn’t had Draco’s dick up his ass … Owl me.”

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh.

“When did my life become so ridiculous?”

“I don’t believe that has anything to do with the Malfoys,” Bastien teased.

“I know we’re not friends,” Hermione said, “but I do appreciate you being so … calm, about this. And I don’t blame you, obviously, I didn’t read the form, I should have checked the bottle, I have been distracted recently and it all just … If something doesn’t have to do with Scorp it’s starting to slip my mind.”

Bastien nodded at someone entering the store and Hermione tensed up. He put a hand on her shoulder and smiled reassuringly.

“Draco used to be a shit person, Hermione. I’m not as close to him as Theo or Blaise, but I know everything he’s dealt with and how much he has changed. I also know how much he loves you and how grateful he is that you were able to give him a family. Perhaps you should talk to someone outside of all this, get your head in the right place for when you do finally tell him.”

“How do you know I haven’t?” Hermione asked. Bastien sighed and returned to his spot behind the counter.

“Because Blaise and Theo are both happily married. Theo’s got the twins and it is only a matter of time before Blaise and Dean figure out how to grow their family. Not only are you Muggle-born, but this will be Draco’s second child outside of marriage and he’ll want to talk to someone who isn’t married. Pureblood stuff, you know. Since he hasn’t shown up at my door completely pissed and smelling of Firewhisky, it’s safe to say you haven’t told him yet.”

Hermione mumbled something about “fucking Pureblood traditions” and turned to leave.

“Oh! Thanks for the help with Padma! Pumpkin Pasties saved me. I owe you!”

“Just don’t tell him and I’ll consider us even,” Hermione shouted over her shoulder.

**.oOo.**

Stepping out of the Floo and into the Burrow was comforting. While Malfoy Manor was becoming her home, Hermione found the organized chaos of the Weasley house rather relaxing. Hermione walked around the manor in a constant state of, “Am I good enough?” Whereas, walking into the Burrow she was met by the open arms of Molly Weasley.

“Is anyone else home?” Hermione asked mid-hug. Mrs. Weasley led her into the living area and said,

“Arthur is at work and it’s just us now except when Charlie is in town. George and Angelina are coming over this evening, but for now it’s just you and me. Narcissa Malfoy told me you might be coming,” she revealed. Hermione wanted to be upset but didn’t have it in her. After all, she hadn’t been keen on revealing it herself. Saying the words “I’m pregnant” wasn’t in any of her immediate plans. She sank into a well-worn chair and pulled her knees up to her chest.

“I’m so scared, Molly,” Hermione admitted. “I’ve hardly been a good mum to Scorpius as of late, and now I have two kids to worry about?! Draco and I, we … we aren’t as committed as we should be. Not for this.”

Molly Weasley raised her eyebrows at that.

“Oh, I think that’s quite to the contrary, dear. If what Narcissa and your father say is true, I believe Draco Malfoy might be more keen on your future together than you believe.”

Hermione shook her head.

“It doesn’t matter—I asked him this morning. I said, ‘If we were married would you want another child?’ And he said no! I’m carrying a child he doesn’t even want!”

“The Malfoy family hasn’t ever been the model for great English parenting, Hermione. But I would wager you sprung this on him at an inopportune time, given the threats to the both of you at the moment.” Hermione reluctantly agreed and Molly trudged forward. “What should he have said? If he said yes, wouldn’t that have frightened you away? If you weren’t pregnant would you have wanted him to say yes?”

“I would have wanted him to admit it wouldn’t be like raising Scorpius,” Hermione said. “It would be different. Scorp is still a Pureblood, but our child …” Hermione paused It felt strange to say that aloud, but not all that unpleasant. “Our child would be a Half-blood, not a Malfoy in the traditional sense. Apparently Draco cares about Malfoy tradition now.”

“I think he cares about you, Hermione,” Mrs. Weasley insisted, “not Pureblood norms. Believe me, Arthur and I know all about that. If he cared about sticking to Pureblood tradition then he wouldn’t have kissed you in public, much less have you living in Malfoy Manor. If you truly don’t believe he would welcome a child with you, then I think you need to take a closer look at everything he has done over the past few months.”

Hermione bit off her thumbnail. She chewed on it anxiously for a moment, considering Mrs. Weasley’s assessment. Deep down, Hermione knew Draco had lied. He wanted another child and Hermione wanted it too. The best moment of her life was when Scorp took some of his first steps. She and Draco shared laughs when Scorpius tried and failed to climb things, and Hermione would sacrifice very nearly anything for her son. But when Draco looked at Scorpius he saw himself and Astoria. Part of Hermione wanted a child where he could see the two of them looking back at him. Hermione immediately felt guilty for even thinking such thoughts because Scorp was just as much her son, but …

“You are overthinking,” Molly said, pulling Hermione from her thoughts. “Tell Draco to trust you. That is what relationships are about. Tell him to trust in your strength because you will get through all of this together.” Mrs. Weasley patted Hermione’s hand before admitting, “I do wish you and Ron had been able to make it work, dear. But it didn’t and that is because the two of you are so focused on different ambitions. Draco’s father was a right foul bastard, more than you will ever know.”

“Draco has given me a fair idea,” Hermione said.

“More than you could ever know,” Mrs. Weasley repeated. “He wanted to be on top of everything, make everyone’s decisions for them. It wasn’t limited to the Hogwarts Board of Governors, wasn’t limited to Death Eaters, he tried to control everything he ever touched. Ron could never understand what it’s like trying to find who you are when the person who loves you most is trying to control your entire life. And, if what he said at dinner is accurate, Draco had deeper issues with love than his father was interested in dealing with. I imagine Draco is happy to be free from that, and Narcissa seems like she has … Well, she seems less likely to make me miserable now so perhaps the same goes for her son.”

“I never understand her,” Hermione admitted. “Does she like me or not? I never know, I never understand what she expects of me. Draco is just the opposite, like he can see what’s happening in my head. I’ll say something or I will yell at him and he gets this look on his face like he’s disappointed because he knows I don’t mean it. But Molly, I’ve always had to be strong. Seventh year in the forest, eighth year, every day at St. Mungo’s, all the time with Ron, and … I don’t know how not to be that. Him not trusting me is only half the problem, because I am terrified of letting him care for me.”

“Do you want him to?” asked Mrs. Weasley.

Hermione gave her a teary smile and admitted, “Yeah, I really do.”

“Then what are you really afraid of, dear?” Molly asked.

“Telling him.”

“Why?”

“Because we never talked about it,” Hermione said, exasperated. “Because I made a mistake, I was careless, I have turned our entire future around. My fuckup has complicated our lives and if he had done anything even remotely this … this ... thick-headed, I’d have my wand at his throat in a second.”

“What I’m hearing is that Draco Malfoy isn’t your problem, it’s your faith in him.”

Hermione opened her mouth to disagree, but she had no valid response. Was it really that simple? Draco had done everything he could to make Hermione comfortable, but comfort and commitment are separate things. Commitment would be living their lives together. Commitment is sharing a bed, introducing each other to their friends, experiencing Scorpius’s milestones together …

_Oh._

_This is all on me._

“Am I really that awful?” Hermione asked. Mrs. Weasley frowned.

“It doesn’t make you awful, Hermione. It just means you are in a place in your life where you found a problem you can’t solve with logic. This one takes heart and it takes trust. Do you want to have a child with Draco Malfoy?”

Hermione nodded.

“Yeah, yeah, I do. I love him so much and he’s done nothing but try to give our son the best life he can, so why would this be any different? I just … I’m covering up my mistake. I’m using his reticence to cover up my mistake, oh, God.” Hermione let her head fall into her hands. Mrs. Weasley patted her back reassuringly and said,

“I am happy you found someone to love, Hermione. I wish it was Ron, but I will be happy just to see the two of you together again without all this animosity between you.”

“I can’t tell him,” Hermione insisted, “not yet. Scorp’s birthday is three weeks away, and a week later is the anniversary of Astoria’s death. I think Draco needs to deal with that before I spring this on him.”

Mrs. Weasley shot a skeptical glance at Hermione’s stomach.

“You can’t wait much longer than that.”

“June 4th,” Hermione said. “I’ll tell him then.”


	32. Bad Moon Rising

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione can't seem to do anything right.

Theo and Tracey had a nice house up in Helga’s Kitchen. The neighborhood of family houses was inhabited primarily by Hufflepuffs and the children of Death Eaters.

“They don’t judge,” Tracey shrugged, presenting Hermione with tea. Hermione thanked her and Tracey took the seat across the table. “Where’s Draco?”

“Visiting one of the Malfoy properties in Ravenswood,” Hermione answered. “Which is fine, I wanted to speak to you alone.”

“Theo and the twins are taking care of the shop today, so you have me,” Tracey said.

Hermione stared into her tea. She took a deep breath and said,

“I’m pregnant.”

“No!” Tracey gasped. That was a bit more dramatic than Hermione expected. “Oh, oh, I am so sorry, but … Congratulations, of course, but … Oh, dear.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Hermione replied. She glanced around the sitting room. It reminded Hermione of her parents’ place, in a way. There was a family photo on the mantle above the fireplace. Some of the twins’ artwork was displayed in the corner and there was a chess set near one wall with two chairs: one big and one small.

“May I tell you some things about Draco?” Tracey asked.

“Everyone tries,” Hermione said, “but I am here because I actually care what you have to say. Draco is the best partner I’ve ever had and I love him, but I don’t know how to tell him about this so I need your help.”

“Me and Theo have been together eleven years. His father was real shit, so he started spent summer holiday at my parents’ place so he could be with me. With the people he wanted to call family. After school, it was just the same. He was with me and then we decided to start our own family. When Draco had nowhere to go I told Theo to take him in. It is what we do, you know? We’re family and you wouldn’t believe the things Lucius Malfoy said to Draco. Disgusting how any father could say those things to his child, Merlin, he was so broken after that.”

“Draco has never actually told me about it,” Hermione admitted.

“I would leave Theo for less,” Tracey said. “If he said a Knut’s worth of what Draco heard before his father kicked him out, I would never allow him to see Scarlett and Seb again. I went through so much to have these kids, I only want the happiest life for them.”

“And Draco helped you along with that?” Hermione asked.

“I was three months along when Draco came to live with us.” Tracey said. “At six months I became violently ill. All sorts of complications can arise with twins, you know, and I couldn’t eat much. I would sleep most of every day. Fever sometimes, I was ill without reprieve. Theo’s very smart but he wasn’t exactly inclined when it came to Potions. Draco, though, he was able to make potions that helped me without affecting the twins. Bastien was working at Mr. Mulpepper’s so Draco bought ingredients there and made everything here at the house in consultation with some of the Healers.”

“That’s why you made him their godfather?” Hermione guessed.

“Yeah, he’s not selfless often, but those last three months would have been hell without him here. Bastien got bumped,” Tracey said with a chuckle. “How far along are you?”

“Hannah says about five weeks,” Hermione replied.

Tracey wiggled her eyebrows and said, “A little post-party shag after the alumni gala?” Hermione turned red and nodded.

“Part of me is tempted to look him in the eyes and say, ‘I love you, I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and we are going to give Scorp a sibling.’ Then I remember this is all my fault and there are powerful people out there who want to hurt us,” Hermione said. “And he said he didn’t want any more kids.”

Tracey laughed into her teacup and said, “That’s a lie. Look, Granger, we’re not friends but Draco is family. You have been through a hell of a lot more than me and Astoria, and you survived. You wore Voldemort’s soul around your neck! Ask Draco, does he believe after all that, that pregnancy will do you in? His prick isn’t that powerful.”

Hermione giggled.

“Every time I start to drift he is there, steady, talking me through it. Ron used to just ignore it or fret around until I came out of it. Draco’s even been more patient with my friends than I have. I just don’t understand how he loves me this much.”

“That’s not a question I can answer,” Tracey replied.

**.oOo.**

On May 23rd, Hermione woke to the sound of Scorpius crying. One glance at the clock told her it was two in the morning. Draco sat up and rubbed his eyes.

“It’s happening more and more often.”

They both got out of bed and padded into Scorp’s room. Draco scooped him from the crib and held Scorpius against his shoulder and the crying softened immediately. Hermione rested her elbows against the crib and smiled at the sight. Draco with his freshly-cut hair and the Yankees t-shirt she liked because it was soft against her back. Scorp’s tiny fingers clutching the shoulder seam, his face scrunched up, cheek against Draco’s chest.

“You are a great dad,” Hermione said, stifling a yawn midway through.

Draco shot her a skeptical glance and said, “Now I know you are tired.”

“I’m serious,” Hermione insisted. “I found Scorp on my doorstep and it took months before I was comfortable when people called me his mother. However, I never had reservations calling you his father and it wasn’t because he looks like you.”

Draco’s ears pinked. In school, even when Draco was flustered, his face was always that ghastly pale colour. His pallor was less sickly-looking but he still had that almost Veela-like white skin. He never blushed in his cheeks, but if Hermione said the right thing his ears would betray him. It was such a little thing but Hermione had started to notice lots of those as of late. When he got angry, Draco favoured his left hand. Every time he left the manor, Draco kept a tiny Puffapod in one of his pockets. His fingers stretched out toward his wand any time Scorp got just a bit too high on the sofa.

“You said you didn’t want any more kids, but—”

“I lied.”

“I know,” Hermione said. She watched as Scorp’s breathing leveled out and his fingers loosened their hold on Draco’s shirt. Neither one of them said anything for a minute.

“You asked a few questions I didn’t know how to answer,” Draco said. “I mean to say that I know my answers, I knew them then, but I did not know whether they were the answers you wanted to hear. Because I still do not understand why you are here. With me, I mean. Oh, sod it all, I am mucking this up again!”

Hermione shook her head and insisted, “No, you’re not. I want to understand. You haven’t lied to me before, so why begin now?”

“Because I thought if I said yes then you wouldn’t want to marry me,” Draco admitted. He was quick to add, “Eventually! I do not understand how any of this happened. You don’t hate me when you have every reason to. Ninety percent of the time I believe you are in love with me but I have this hesitation because you are still keeping things from me. Almost like you are afraid of me.”

Hermione nodded for him to put Scorp back in the crib and Draco followed her back to bed. Hermione curled into his side and Draco wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

“I’m not afraid of you, you know,” Hermione mumbled. “I’m just afraid you’re going to find things about me that you don’t like and then you won’t love me like you do now.”

Draco groaned, “For the last time, you have to stop thinking of me like you did Ron Weasley.”

**.oOo.**

May 26th: the Saturday before Scorp’s first birthday. Hermione had requested—not ordered—all the house-elves leave the kitchen and spend a couple hours enjoying whatever it is they liked to do. Draco’s eyes nearly rolled out of his head, but given their argument a few weeks prior he thought better of saying anything aloud. He settled for,

“We should let Blaise do this.”

“No!” Hermione insisted. She pulled on an apron, which she had to nick from her mother because no human had cooked in Malfoy Manor since their Hogwarts days. “It’s Scorpius’s first birthday and we have to do something. Can’t just shove it all onto Blaise.”

“He is a professional chef, though,” Draco said.

“But that’s cooking!” Hermione said. “Baking is different. I don’t know if he can bake.”

“Liar.”

“So what if he makes the best desserts this side of the Atlantic?!” Hermione shouted. “He is our son and we have to do some of the actual work in celebrating his first year of life.”

“Personally, I think waking up every goddamn evening at one-thirty to rock him back to sleep after a nightmare counts as ‘doing some of the actual work.’”

“Merlin’s arse, do you have any idea what it could be? It’s every night now,” Hermione said, fussing with the tie on her apron. “There’s no history of this in your family, but perhaps—”

“None in the Greengrasses, I asked Daphne,” Draco revealed. “Not a pleasant conversation.”

“Right, well … I’ll get to work. You just sit there and look pretty,” Hermione said. Draco smiled and pulled a chair up to the other side of the large island. Hermione rattled off the list of ingredients and Draco said,

“Accio flour!”

Which Hermione thought was really considerate. Except, the bag of flour zoomed right into Draco’s hands and with a soft _poof!_ , a small cloud of flour shot up from the bag into his face. Draco sat there, wide-eyed and lips parted in surprise, with his fingers too tight around the flour. Hermione doubled-over in laughter.

“It’s … It’s just … You hardly look any different!” she shouted. She covered her mouth with both hands. “Are you smiling? I can’t tell where your face stops and your hair begins.”

Draco scooped a handful of flour from the sack and threw it at Hermione. She didn’t acknowledge it in time to duck, so she wiped it out of her eyes and saw Draco chuckling into a towel. Hermione wordlessly Summoned it from his hands and used it to wipe her own face off. Draco pressed a fist to his mouth to somewhat withhold his giggling.

“I did not think about your hair. It is everywhere, oh, you are never going to get all that out. There is enough in there to make a loaf of bread!”

Hermione threw the towel at him and said, “I am fairly certain that’s yeast.” She grabbed the flour, found all the other ingredients, and went to work.

“Do you actually know what you are doing?” Draco asked as Hermione put paper cases in the cake tins. She shrugged in response.

“I used to make biscuits and sweets with my parents during holidays. I make potions and ointments for a living; how hard can this be?”

Draco raised his eyebrows and said, “You are going to poison us, aren’t you?”

“On the upside, if we run into your Revivalist friends we can get them to try one and find out,” Hermione quipped. Draco did not find that funny.

Hermione stirred the butter and sugar together before beating in the eggs. Then she stirred in the vanilla extract and folded in the flour, with Draco watching silently. Hermione walked the flour back to where it was stored to prevent further incident. She added in milk then offered the bowl to Draco.

“Would you like to scoop it in?”

He shook his head.

“Absolutely not, these monstrosities will be one-hundred percent Granger-made.”

“Bloody prat,” Hermione mumbled as she scooped batter into each of the individual fairy cake tins. She cast a spell to heat the oven and stuffed the tins inside. “Eight minutes to go, then you’ll see I can bake.”

“You are adorable when you’re determined like this,” Draco said. Hermione smiled.

“Most people have words that are less kind to describe it, so I’ll accept ‘adorable,’ Lord Malfoy.”

“You know, with all that flour in your hair, it’s a tad bit sexy,” he teased. Hermione rolled her eyes.

“If you think this is sexy, you should visit me at work. Up to my elbows in Eye of Newt and Dragon Tongue, I’m practically irresistible.”

“Toss in some Acromantula venom and I will be up for it in a heartbeat,” Draco shot back.

_I should tell him. I should tell him right now … But we’re so happy._

“Oddly enough, I feel like you would shag me even if I had been working in nasty ingredients,” Hermione admitted. “Because you love me that much.”

“I do,” Draco agreed. He tapped his fingers on the table before saying, “And I know you are still keeping something from me. You have a look on your face sometimes when you feel guilty. Hell, you have it now.”

_Shit._

“I will tell you, Draco, I promise,” Hermione insisted. This secret would come out eventually, whether she verbalized it or not.

“I wish I didn’t believe you,” he replied. Draco leaned forward on his elbows. “You know everything there is to know about me, literally the worst things I have ever done. I cannot say the same for me of you. Hermione, you still do not speak about your time with Weasley. I see the way you look at him, or the way you don’t look at him because some part of you wonders whether leaving him was a mistake.”

“That’s not true!” Hermione insisted. “It wasn’t a mistake. I just … I wonder if I gave so much of myself to him that I’m not able to be whole for anyone else.”

“Well, I am here to find out,” Draco replied. Hermione busied herself washing the batter off her hands. She hated when he said things like that because it made her feel inadequate. She couldn’t guarantee that she would be enough. There was a not-insignificant chance that Hermione would take exponentially more from Draco than she could ever give in return.

“You’re doing it again, Hermione! You’re thinking!” Draco shouted. Hermine turned off the faucet and faced him. “Stop thinking! Stop tiptoeing around me like I am fragile. I’m not! The entire world hated me for years, but do you know what got me through it?”

“Don’t say me,” Hermione insisted. “Don’t put me on a pedestal, Draco, that’s exactly the problem.”

“At my trial they put me in a chair, bound my wrists, my feet, took my wand away, treated me like I was dangerous. There were a hundred people in that room and ninety-nine of them did not believe in my future. It just took one person for me to prove otherwise.”

Ding!

Hermione was grateful to pull the fairy cakes out of the oven. They looked nice, perhaps a tad lumpy, but a perfect golden brown on top. She sat them on the island and Draco grabbed one. Hermione grabbed one as well and took her time peeling off the paper.

“You are not flawless,” Draco said. “First of all, you snore. It is soft, almost cute, but still snoring. Second, you are one of the most ruthless people I have ever met. Marietta had to see a Muggle Healer to fix the scarring on her face, you know.”

_She shouldn’t have betrayed the DA. I won’t apologize for that._

“Third, you are terrified of failure to an unhealthy degree I would argue borders on madness. The reason it took you so long to leave Weasley was because if you left him it meant you had failed to make it work. You distance yourself from me and Scorp when you feel like you are being a bad mother. You—” He took a small bite of the cake and immediately spat it back into his hand. “Bloody hell!”

Hermione, convinced he was being a melodramatic ponce, bit off half the fairy cake in her hand. She chewed … and chewed … and chewed. It was awful! The cake was dry and almost bitter. Never one to give in, Hermione swallowed it but the look on her face must have given her away. She reread the recipe as Draco said,

“Fourth, you are a terrible baker.”

“Sod off!” Hermione said. She grabbed one of the tins and took Draco’s hand. “Take me to see Blaise. I want to know where I went wrong.”

Draco obliged her. Not without faux-complaining and making a fuss out of it, of course, but he did it. Hermione followed Draco through the front gate and knocked on the door. She had walked by this house so many times, it was still strange to know the inhabitants. Hermione didn’t miss the neighborhood; the manor was growing on her. With all its rooms and Malfoy secrets and their gigantic library with more books than she could read in three lifetimes, Hermione was never bored.

Blaise opened the door and grumbled, “You two could not have picked a worse time.”

Hermione’s first instinct was to be concerned but then Draco laughed. Not the almost-silent chuckle, but a full-on laugh that had him doubled-over and grabbing Hermione’s shoulder for support. Hermione realized Blaise was not wearing a shirt and had a rather conspicuous red mark on the side of his neck.

“Are you shagging in the middle of the day?!” Hermione whisper-shouted.

“We both work late on Saturdays,” Blaise said. “We take a couple hours for lunch and …”

“Food does not seem to be the only thing you’re eating, mate!” Draco said between fits of laughter. Blaise glared at him.

“Va al diavolo!” He huffed and asked, “Are you two here for something?”

“No, we can—”

“What are those?” Blaise asked, his eyes going wide when he spotted the tins in Hermione’s hands. “Did you try to make food?!”

“I seem to have mucked it up somehow,” Hermione pouted. “I followed the recipe!”

Blaise opened the door and ushered them inside. He led them to the kitchen, which was the size of two rooms. All the appliances appeared very expensive, very up-to-date, it looked like the kitchen one would expect for someone who cooked like Blaise Zabini.

He plucked one of the fairy cakes from the tin, took a bite, and immediately spat it out into the sink. Without saying a word, he waved his hand and one of the drawers opened. Two measuring spoons floated their way over so Blaise could hold them up and ask,

“Which one of these did you use for the vanilla?”

“Big one for the vanilla, small one for the milk,” Hermione replied. Blaise looked heavenward and sighed, which only made Draco laugh harder.

“Tablespoons and teaspoons, you mixed them up. Three teaspoons per tablespoon, Granger. Your fairy cakes are worthless because you overdid the vanilla and underused the milk. I will bake the cake for Scorp’s birthday tomorrow morning and it will be amazing because I am capable of nothing less. Do not try to bake anything else, I fear for the entire manor if you attempt to use an oven for more than ten minutes. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a partially debauched Dean in my bed. Stay, don’t stay, I don’t care but we aren’t quiet.”

“Bye now!” Hermione said, grabbing Draco’s hand and pulling him toward the door. Draco took Hermione Sidealong back to the manor then she stomped down to the kitchen and tossed the tin onto the table. She grabbed the recipe book and saw that Blaise was right. She could have kicked herself for making such an idiotic mistake. Hermione slammed the recipe book onto the island.

“Why the hell can’t I seem to do anything right?!” she shouted.

Draco came up behind Hermione and wrapped his arms around her waist. Hermione sighed and leaned back into him, even more guilty than before. His hands were so gentle on her stomach that she could pretend he knew what she had yet to tell him. Would it feel like that all the time? Draco kissed her cheek and moved his hands up her sides until they came around to rest on her shoulders.

“I needed that laugh,” he said. “You always manage to remind me where my mind should be. Everyone has their own version of who they believe I am, and much of the time I am not inclined to contradict them. But you never see anything else, never allow me to be anything else, so I know you will tell me when you are ready to tell me.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is another West Wing allusion.


	33. We Understand Each Other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I am going to a place where I do not have to see you, speak to you, or be in your general presence."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bumped the story up to 40 chapters but that's a hard limit. Epilogue and all. Chapter takes place entirely on May 28th, 2007.

Narcissa planned the party.

She didn’t give Hermione much choice in the matter, but it was for the best. Hermione had enough on her mind. She arrived at St. Mungo’s that morning and trudged over to the lift. It creaked as it ascended and the sound grated on Hermione’s nerves. There was no reason to keep putting off big decisions but that didn’t stop her throat from tightening. She could still taste the vomit from earlier that morning, though she brushed her teeth three times. Draco had been so concerned that Hermione blamed it on a negative reaction to Saturday’s fairy cake.

But this … This was something Hermione felt in her heart she had to do. No more what-ifs, maybes, or just a little bit longers. The time had come and she made her decision. Hermione hesitated for just a moment before knocking on the office door. It opened of its own accord to reveal the Chief Healer behind his desk.

“Come in, Miss Granger.”

Hermione obliged and shut the door behind her.

“I don’t have long,” she said. “I’ve nearly perfected the lotion for Spattergroit and I’d like to have it finished by the end of the week.”

“I am pleased to hear it,” Healer Battlehunt replied wearily. “Have you made a decision regarding your future here at St. Mungo’s?”

“Yes!” Hermione revealed, suddenly rather excited. Her throat loosened and it felt like a weight was lifted off her shoulders. “Yes, yes I have. I would love to be your successor and it shouldn’t have taken me early this long to recognize that. However, would you mind staying on through February? I’m afraid I have some news.”

**.oOo.**

By the time Harry stepped out of the Floo that afternoon the manor was overflowing with people. Hermione had invited most of her wizarding friends and Draco invited his. They underestimated how awkward it would be.

Scorp’s party took place in the garden where a table had been set up next to the fountain. The sun still shined and the warm, almost-summer air made for a perfect afternoon. Blaise’s cake was shaped like a Snitch and, not that Hermione could back it up with evidence, the ball was chocolate cake and the wings were vanilla. Theo, Blaise, and Dean had been there a half hour. “Cake duty,” they insisted, though Hermione was aware it was a petty insistence on establishing dominance over the space. Narcissa took the lead, fussing about to make sure everything went smoothly and even got rid of a rogue gnome.

“Gin’s at home,” Harry said, walking outside with Al in his arms. Jay had appeared thirty seconds earlier and made a beeline for the table loaded with sweets. “She’s due in three weeks.” He put Al down and pulled Hermione into a hug.

“Thanks for coming,” she grumbled into his shoulder.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Harry replied. “Besides, Al keeps asking to visit ‘Score-puss’ again. Teddy won’t miss any excuse to see Victoire. This solved a lot of problems for me.”

Sure enough, Al had waddled his way over to where Scorpius was picking grass near the fountain. Molls and Dominque were on the swings while Teddy, Victoire, and Sebastien ran around trying to catch a white peacock. Harry nodded toward them and asked,

“Whose kid is that?”

“Mine.”

Hermione jumped a bit, since Theo seemed to have appeared out of nowhere.

“Oh, erm, hello,” Harry said. Theo snorted into his butterbeer.

“Don’t worry, I’m not pleased to see you either. Figured Draco would want friends here. Could have just sent Blaise but then I heard the whole lot of you were coming and he gets a bit theatrical when he’s outnumbered.”

“Like punching me in the face?” Ron said. Hermione turned around and threw herself into a hug. “Good to see you too, ‘mione,” Ron said, patting her on the back. “I’d give you a better hug but Malfoy looks like he’s about to curse me.”

“He won’t, I promise,” Hermione said. She dropped her hold on him and beamed. “I’m just … Just really happy to see you.”

Ron nodded toward someone over Hermione’s shoulder and said, “Alicia came, too.”

“Great,” Hermione said. She didn’t care to hide the glibness in her tone. Theo didn’t sound too enthused, either.

“Sometimes I wonder whether Trace and I got married too soon then I hear this drivel about your relationships and I feel loads better. Cheers,” he said with a raised glass. Then he made for Draco, who was still glaring at Ron. They all scanned the crowd for a few moments, shocked by the amalgam of people who showed up.

“Ron, I think you may be the only man here without serious father-related issues,” Harry deadpanned. Hermione laughed and Ron conceded the point. Ron placed his hands on Hermione’s shoulders and surveyed her up and down.

“Not wearing all-black, no Dark Mark, and you’ve still got the face you make when I’m being annoying. Nah, you haven’t changed at all,” he surmised. Before Hermione could respond, Draco was there and took her hand in his own.

“Afternoon,” he said in greeting. He nodded to Harry and glared at Ron. Neither of them answered him. “We were just about to have cake, love.”

Hermione felt testosterone coat her skin. Ron narrowed his eyes and Draco’s fingers tightened almost infinitesimally around her own. Harry looked between the two of them with an exasperated sigh. Hermione wasn’t bothered when he referred to her like that. He’d done it twice before and she treasured both moments. It was intimate, and it bothered her that Draco used it as a bat to smack Ron upside the head.

“Well, I didn’t bake it so I am sure it’s delicious,” she said before allowing herself to be pulled in the direction of the table. Dean was holding Scorp as everyone else gathered around. Hermione leaned closer to Draco and whispered, “Don’t do that again.”

“I am afraid I do not know what you mean,” he replied. Hermione scoffed.

“Innocence does not suit you.”

“Neither does Weasley putting his hands on you,” Draco whispered back.

“Merlin’s arse, could you be any more of a jealous prat?” Hermione asked.

“I could try,” Draco quipped just as Blaise cut the first slice. He offered it to Hermione, and she accepted it graciously. He gave another to Draco, then passed out smaller slices to the kids. As Blaise continued serving, Hermione tried to ignore the way Draco glared at Ron any time he got near one of Draco’s friends. Ron said hello to Blaise and Hermione saw Draco’s eye twitch. She glanced down at the plate in her hand, then looked up at Draco before smashing her cake into his face. Everyone paused, stunned as Draco licked the icing from his lips. He tilted his head to one side for a moment then said,

“At least you did not punch me this time.”

“Lucky you,” Hermione quipped. Then Draco pressed his cake into her face and everyone burst into laughter. Hermione nodded. “Alright, I deserved that.”

Hermione wiped some of the frosting from her face and licked it off her finger. She couldn’t decide which was better: the icing or the obscene look Draco gave her afterward. He conjured a towel and offered it to Hermione so she could wipe her face off. Hermione handed it back to him, then wiped off some icing he had missed on his nose. Blaise had his wand out and held it protectively over the cake.

“If you want to flirt with food, use Hermione’s fairy cakes. Merlin knows that is the only thing they are good for,” he said.

“Shit, ‘mione, you tried to bake?” Ron asked from across the table. Draco’s smile vanished instantly. Hermione groaned. He was never so mercurial unless Ron was around. Everyone else seemed ignorant of it, or at least tolerant since they’d reacted to each other the same way for over sixteen years.

“I presume you had the misfortune of tasting Hermione’s baked goods?” Draco asked, with just the barest hint of civility.

“Yeah, I tasted a lot from Hermione,” Ron said. Draco reached for his wand but Hermione grabbed his hand. Alicia elbowed Ron in the side and he amended, “Food! I tasted a lot of her food.”

Hermione mouthed, “Thank you,” and Alicia nodded. She wished Ginny was there to soothe everything. Ginny was good at that, at managing people, insulting people at the perfect time and knowing when not too push too far. Draco turned on his heel and said,

“I need to go get a thing.”

Hermione knew him well enough to understand Draco didn’t want her to follow him into the manor. She also knew him well enough to know she should. Their exit was conspicuous, but Hermione nodded to Dean and he wordlessly agreed to keep everyone distracted. Draco’s “thing” turned out to require a walk through a quarter of the manor before stopping in one of the smaller rooms.

He paced. Draco looked like he wanted to throw something but settled for pacing the length of the room. Hermione understood Ron’s presence had prompted this, but Draco was restraining himself and the effort was evident. His jaw clenched repeatedly while he cracked his knuckles in alternate time to his steps. Draco’s shoes slapped loudly against the wood floor and the sound reverberated against the walls. The room was mostly unused except, apparently, for private conversation. Hermione spoke first.

“What went wrong?”

“I don’t want him in my house!” Draco snapped.

“Why not?” Hermione asked, struggling to keep her voice level.

“Because it is my house!” Draco shouted. Red sparks flew from his fingertips. He’d never been quite this angry before and Hermione was frightened by it. He’d always seemed to come back before but it didn’t feel that way this time.

“Just tell me what you mean,” Hermione begged.

“Ironic, coming from you,” Draco shot back. He paced for a bit, but Hermione held her ground until he decided to continue. “You cannot be part of his life and part of mine.”

“Why not?”

“Because I do not like the way you look at him!” Draco said. He cursed himself and glanced heavenward like he hadn’t meant to say that aloud. “Well there, now you know.”

“Are you under the delusion I still want to be with Ron?” Hermione asked. “Is that what this is about?”

“Not so much delusion as using my eyes for their intended purpose,” Draco replied. Hermione laughed and Draco planted himself as far away from her as he could get without leaving the room. Then it was Hermione’s turn to be angry.

“The thing you do, assuming what I’m thinking? You need to stop. You know me well enough to presume certain things, but do not ever, ever presume to understand my relationship to Ron Weasley! Don’t you dare, because I don’t understand it myself. Leaving him was one of the most difficult things I ever had to do, but I did it for the promise of someone else, someone better. Despite your attitude today, I still believe that’s you.”

“How—”

“Let me take on your role, here, and assume what you’re thinking,” Hermione said, sardonically. Draco got a pinched look on his face that was nearly enough to make Hermione laugh … But not quite. “Some part of you believes I am here because you are Scorp’s father. You think I would never leave because of it, because of the life we’ve been able to form out of the giant rubbish piles that were our lives apart. I left Ron and I will leave you too, if you make me.”

Draco said nothing. There wasn’t much for him to say, Hermione supposed. He just stood in his corner, arms crossed, breaths so long and shallow he hardly made a sound.

“I know the exact moment I realized I wanted to spend my future with you,” Hermione revealed.

“Enlighten me,” Draco said.

“You showed up at St. Mungo’s with Scorp and you didn’t have to. You knew everyone there hated you but you wanted to share that moment with me. Our family was more important than the rest of the world to you. After Scorp managed to walk the full metre or so I thought nothing in the world could make me happier, then I saw you. The pride in your eyes, the happiness, the … the … everything,” Hermione sputtered, throwing her hands in the air. “I saw more of you in that moment than I ever had, and I knew I would do whatever it took to make you look at me like that again.”

Draco was silent.

“That’s my future, Draco,” Hermione said. “You, Scorp, and—”

Draco raised an eyebrow and asked, “And what?”

_Oh, shit._

Hermione cleared her throat and smoothed out the skirt of her dress. She said, “And me,” while staring at the floor. Draco’s eyebrows knitted together and he broke free of the corner to stride toward Hermione.

“You are making that face again, the guilty one,” he said. He stopped right in front of Hermione and asked, “And what?”

“Nothing,” Hermione lied. “Nothing, and it was a poor choice of words, I just … Nothing.”

Draco grit his teeth and a vase on one of the bookshelves exploded. Hermione winced but Draco didn’t even flinch.

“Do not lie to me.”

“I took the job,” Hermione revealed. “The job Ron never wanted me to have and the one you’ve been pushing me toward? I took it.”

Draco’s expression softened, but he still appeared skeptical. Intuitive bastard.

“I am proud of you for taking it since St. Mungo’s would have been worse off with anyone else. It means you trust me to take care of things while you are at work all those hours.”

“Exactly!” Hermione said, smiling. “That’s exactly it. And you won’t make me feel like an awful mother for choosing to do it. That is why I am not afraid to have a child with you.”

Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth and Draco smiled.

“That is far in the future, but I am glad to hear it,” he said. Hermione shook her head.

_Oh, God, what have I done?_

“About seven-and-a-half months,” she admittedly softly.

“Sorry?” Draco asked. Hermione froze. She glanced at the vase, half of its shards scattered across the floor. She could refrain from telling him but he’s not an idiot. She saw him reasoning it out and rationalizing it away. Hermione took a deep breath and said,

“I’m pregnant.”

There was a long pause where it took Draco what seemed like ages to process those two words. He blinked, blinked again, then asked,

“With a child?”

“No, with a Dragon,” Hermione quipped. “Yes, with a child.”

“But …”

Draco’s face was a whirlwind of emotion. Curiosity, anger, sadness, fear … Hermione was shocked when it settled on betrayal. He felt for the chair beside him rather than looked and fell back into it. He pressed his elbows into his knees, let his head fall into his hands, and took a deep breath.

“How long have you known?”

_I could lie._

“Three weeks,” Hermione answered. Draco ran his hands through his hair and stood up. He brushed past Hermione and said,

“I have to go.”

“Go?” Hermione asked. “Go where? We have guests!”

“Tell my mother I went to see a friend from school. She will know what that means,” Draco said, his tone brittle as ice. Hermione followed him out of the room and over to the parlor.

“I don’t know what that means,” Hermione insisted. “Do you plan to tell me?”

Draco threw open the door to the coat closet and said, “It means I am going to a place where I do not have to see you, speak to you, or be in your general presence.”

Rage filled Hermione, so hot she felt it in her toes.

“What did you want me to do?!” she shouted. “I thought I should let you get through this week! I thought you should get time to cope with Scorp’s birthday and the anniversary of—”

“Do not speak about that right now!” Draco shouted. His fingers were white as he gripped the doorframe to steady himself. “Goddamn it! I have spent my entire life having choices made for me. I thought you were different; I believed you trusted me. How bloody naïve have I been?” He grabbed his coat so forcefully the hanger flew out of the closet. “I did not get a choice with Astoria and now I have no choice with you!”

“Hermione?” Ron’s voice sounded from the hallway. He popped his head into the parlor and asked, “Is everything okay?”

She didn’t bother turning around. Draco’s expression was murderous.

“Great, it’s you,” he seethed. Draco threw on his coat as Ron came to stand next to Hermione. “Of course it’s you, it is always going to be this way, isn’t it?”

Ron ignored him and asked Hermione, “Is everything okay?”

“Tell him, Hermione,” Draco snapped. “Go tell our problems to your _best friend_!”

“Draco, wait!”

He Disapparated with a loud “Crack!” Hermione forced back the tears and took a shaky breath in.

_No time to panic._

“’Mione?” Ron asked. “What just happened?”

She shook her head and said, “You need to leave.”

“What?” Ron replied, affronted. “Do you want me to leave or does he want me to leave?”

“It’s his house,” Hermione repeated without inflection.

“What just happened?” Ron asked.

“I told him I’m pregnant,” Hermione revealed. She didn’t have to look at Ron to know his face was scrunched up with the look he always got when he thought about Malfoy. He had always been rather predictable when it came to Draco, but the reverse was just as true.

“Merlin’s saggy left—God, in some part of my brain I knew you were shagging Malfoy, but gross. And congratulations, I s’pose.”

“Yeah,” Hermione sighed. She realized there would be Rons, Dracos, and Narcissas. There were no more Bastiens, were there?

“Hey, ‘mione, I’m sorry that was rude,” Ron said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “But what’s got his wand in a knot?”

“It was a mistake,” she admitted, shrugging him off. “An accident, my carelessness, stupidity—”

“Stop!” Ron cut her off before she could rattle off any more. “He isn’t angry with you.”

Hermione continued to stare at the spot where Draco had Disapparated. Perhaps if she stared hard enough she could think of a scenario where Draco didn’t leave angry. If she thought hard enough maybe she could find a scenario where Draco didn’t leave at all. Hermione had finally pushed Draco too far and their life together was in pieces on the floor.

“Listen, ‘mione,” Ron said. He thought better of touching her this time, opting instead to sit on the arm of the chair closest to her. “That blond bastard will never get any sympathy from me. Fifteen years later and I’m still tasting slugs any time someone offers me sushi. That said, you have to realize he’s the family fuckup.”

Hermione would have laughed if it wasn’t true.

“Half a millennium of tradition to uphold and the Malfoys are rigid about it. Structure and tradition are the only thing they can do properly since Merlin knows parental affection never played much into it. Pureblood society is stupid and Weasleys aren’t exactly welcome, but it doesn’t mean we don’t know things. Draco’s dad disowned him, ‘mione. It was his mum who convinced his father not to write Draco out of the will. He’d been living his life thinking he was the end of the Malfoy line and then you show up with his Pureblood son and it was like Merlin himself had come down from the heavens and given him a second chance to carry it on.”

“Which I ruined,” Hermione muttered. Ron shook his head.

“He ruined it. He chose you, ‘mione, and it’s probably the best goddamn decision that ferret ever made. He’s having another child outside of marriage and if he ever married it would be to a Muggle-born. The Malfoys will be worse-off than us in the eyes of Pureblood society now and he has to deal with that. If I had to guess, and I am just guessing because Merlin knows I never want to be in the mind of that bloody prat, but he still hoped he could be the son his father wanted him to be. That’s gone now.”

“I never wanted him to be that,” Hermione whispered. “I just wanted him to be my partner in this.”

“Hermione,” Ron took her hand, “I can tell you with absolute certainty that he isn’t upset with you. He could be angry at himself for not showing you that you could trust him or that he didn’t ask you to marry him sooner or, hell, maybe he’s still grieving the loss of his friend. None of that is under your control. But I know the way he looked at me today, and it’s the look of someone who already has a ring picked out.”

Hermione sniffled and swallowed, willing the tears not to flow over.

“What if you’re wrong?” she asked.

“I’m not,” Ron insisted.

“But what if you are?”

“When it comes to being in love with you I consider myself an expert. So I’m not wrong,” Ron said. “And if you ever need me, ‘mione, I’m here for you. Unless you want to talk about shagging Malfoy, then that’s definitely a Harry conversation.”

Hermione did chuckle at that. She wiped her eyes and looked at him.

“Thank you for that. But shouldn’t I go to Draco first when I have a problem? If I go to you, wouldn’t that be just like him going to Blaise or—”

“Where do you think he is right now?” Ron asked. Hermione grit her teeth and nodded, resolute. She turned on her heel and went back out to the party. If her coming out alone was suspicious, it was doubly so when she pulled Blaise aside to talk in private.

Hermione crossed her arms and said, “Draco needs you right now.”

“Why?” Blaise asked. “Did he ask for me?”

Hermione shook her head.

“No, he didn’t, but he needs you. And … And I need you to go to him.”

Blaise Zabini didn’t get flustered. It was Gamp’s Fourth Law: ironclad. But just then he came very, very close. He bit down on his bottom lip, confused and a little worried. He asked,

“Where is he now?”

“Visiting a friend from school,” Hermione replied. Blaise put a hand over his mouth and took a couple steps back. He ground his teeth together and grumbled,

“Shit.”

“I’m about to tell you why and I need you to not tell anyone else,” Hermione said. She looked around and saw everyone going about their duties, pretending not to watch the two of them. Harry kept glancing toward the manor, expecting to see Draco emerge any second. Blaise nodded at her request so Hermione repeated,

“I’m pregnant.”

“Oh!” Blaise shouted. He lowered his voice and said, “Congratulations.” Then he scooped Hermione up into a hug. She awkwardly patted him on the back, but then decided to wrap her arms around his shoulders because he was Draco’s best friend and of course Draco’s best friend would be excited about Draco’s baby. He put her back on the ground and Hermione asked,

“Are you a Polyjuiced Dean or …?”

“That was for baby news only, do not get used to it,” he teased. His smile softened and he asked, “God, really? You are?”

Hermione nodded.

“And Draco is having a fit because he finds himself ill-equipped for parenthood?”

“I think it has more to do with next Sunday than anything,” Hermione admitted. “But he … He sounded angrier than I’ve ever seen him. He’s never been so upset with me before.”

“I think the life Draco envisioned with you had a different beginning,” Blaise admitted. “He is theatrical, if nothing else. I will talk him around, I promise, you just need to let him have his Pureblood pity party.”

Hermione giggled.

“He does need you, though. He was too upset to come out here and ask. I trust him not to go off searching for _reassurance_ elsewhere,” she said. Blaise nodded to indicate he understood the implication. “However, I would also like you to advocate for me if you can.”

“There is no need to ask, Hermione. I left Scorp at your door, remember? If I did not believe you were the right person to care for Draco’s child for any length of time I would have gone elsewhere. I Vowed to protect Scorpius to the best of my ability and that means you.”

Hermione looked up into his eyes and saw nothing but kindness. She had anticipated a much more heated reaction from him but all she got was trust. She nodded and said,

“I think we understand each other.”

Blaise patted her on the shoulder and agreed, “I think we do.”


	34. Strike Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione's got 99 problems and Draco Malfoy is 97 of them.

Draco did not return on Monday.

Hermione was not surprised because he would need time if what Ron said was true. They were clearly at a fork in the road, needing to commit to life together or decide to live separately. Hermione knew what she wanted, but why didn’t Draco? How difficult could it be for him to say, “I love you more than my Pureblood status.” Draco knew that at his core but ran into a wall when it came to telling people he felt that way.

Draco did not return on Tuesday.

That surprised her. Had they truly reached the end? Could they not get past this? He wasn’t out shagging someone else; Hermione was more certain of that than anything else between them. But what kept him away? She had her suspicions, but instinct told her it was shame. Shame that he wanted her. After Hermione put Scorp to bed, she walked into Draco’s room. It was cold without him, sad, and it felt like trespassing. Hermione walked to the bedside table and picked up the small painting of the two of them. Even when they were nothing more than “partners” she could laugh around him. Draco was funny when he wanted to be, but humour wouldn’t get them through this. Hermione placed the frame back on the table then worked the ring off her right middle finger. She placed it on the table and walked away.

Draco did not return on Wednesday and Hermione had enough.

**.oOo.**

She took Scorp to the Zabinis that morning and Dean opened the door with a grumbled, “Hello.” Hermione raised her eyebrows and asked,

“What’s up your arse this morning?”

Blaise appeared in the hallway behind him on the way to the kitchen.

“Ah, never mind,” Hermione quipped. Dean made a face indicating that wasn’t funny, but Hermione giggled at her own joke. She meandered past him and sat Scorp in his high chair near the kitchen island. He looked to the refrigerator, held out his hands, and said,

“Meh! Meh! Meh?”

Hermione rolled her eyes and turned to ask Blaise, “Are you still feeding him mangoes?!”

Blaise shrugged and licked syrup off his finger.

“And papayas and kiwi. Scorp is fond of oranges, though I do not cook with those often. When he turns three I will start him on cherries and figs, perhaps prickly pears.”

“Did you at any point consider including me in this dietary plan?” Hermione snapped.

“No,” Blaise replied. “You feed him boring food six days of the week and then he looks forward to coming over to me and Dean so he can get the good stuff.”

“Right, because what I really need in my life is my kid liking you more than he likes me. I just got over that with Draco, and now—”

“Hermione,” Blaise said with an annoying amount of patience, “ask me the question. There is no need to be upset with me. You can blame your attitude on hormones but I think it would be better for all of us if you just ask me.”

Hermione tapped her fingers on the table before giving in.

“How is he?”

“Good, I think,” Blaise replied. “Misses you, but he is ashamed.”

_I knew it._

“Ashamed he left at all,” Blaise amended.

_Oh._

“He should be,” Hermione insisted. “He is Scorp’s father and walked out on his birthday party!”

“Any time someone would like to inform me as to why, that’d be great,” Dean said. He pulled some juice out of the fridge and chugged it straight from the bottle. Hermione stared as he put it back in the fridge and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“You know I hate when you do that,” Blaise whined. Hermione giggled because she had officially made it far enough into their lives where they felt comfortable being so domestic around her. It was nice. Hermione wondered whether she and Draco would ever progress that way before remembering they may not progress further at all.

“And I hate when you keep secrets from me,” Dean quipped, “so I suppose we’re square.”

“Draco and I are having a child together,” Hermione revealed. “We had a row and he decided to spend some time away.” Her “from me” didn’t need to be spoken. Dean shut the refrigerator and pulled Hermione into a tight hug.

“I’m sorry he’s such a cock.”

Hermione giggled and she didn’t have to see Blaise’s expression to know he was positively affronted.

“That’s my best friend!”

“And you should drag his arse back over to the manor where he belongs,” Dean insisted, still not letting go of Hermione. “Do we get to be the godparents of this one, too?”

Hermione shrugged, and sagged into Dean’s arms.

“Probably. Sure as hell isn’t going to be Ron and Alicia. Harry’s got too many kids to worry about already. In fact, I haven’t even told him or Ginny. Romilda would be a terrible parent. I’d never send my kids to Pansy Parkinson, even if she is with Katie. Angie and George are great, but they aren’t you two. So yes, you will likely have them both. Draco Malfoy II or whatever we name him.”

“Draco would die before he let you name that child after his father,” Blaise said. Dean finally let Hermione out of their hug and she leaned around to see Blaise feeding Scorpius the offending mango. “Technically, Lucius isn’t even his second name anymore. Draco Black Malfoy, like his mother, though Narcissa insists on calling him by his old name. That she still has any fondness for the man after what he said to Draco is grounds to have her committed.”

Hermione nodded.

“Add that to the list of things he didn’t tell me,” she said before heading out.

“Hermione, did you lose the ring or did you take it off?” Blaise shouted after her.

“I won’t wear something that binds me to a man who is ashamed of me,” she said over her shoulder before Disapparating.

When she picked up Scorpius later in the day, Blaise was nowhere to be found.

“He’s trying,” Dean said warily. “Life has been rather difficult for him the past few months. All his friends have kids, you know. Draco, Theo, Ernie, and Bastien isn’t responsible enough for one from what I understand. Neither is Romilda. He has it in his mind that I desperately want to be a father and I keep telling him not to rush things. We can’t even agree on how to do it, let alone when. I am perfectly fine with Scorp and our as-yet-unnamed Malfoy-Granger being the only kids in our lives. Now Draco’s gone mad over the prospect of a second child and Blaise is comforting him while also trying not to smack him upside the head because we can’t even have one.”

_Oh._

“If I had known, I wouldn’t have put him in that position,” Hermione replied. “I asked him to go.”

“He would have been there anyway because he cares about Draco,” Dean replied. “But I don’t think Draco is ashamed of you, Hermione. I would bet Blaise’s entire Gringotts vault against it.”

Hermione sighed. She didn’t have a response because she wanted to believe that was true. Hermione could not think of another reason for him to spend more than a day away from her, much less more than a day away from his son. Scorpius still had nightmares and it was solely up to Hermione to get him back to sleep.

“Oh! I have this for you. I was going to wait until we saw you and Draco together again, but since he’s being a bastard I’ll let you open it on your own.”

Dean handed Hermione a small box wrapped in green paper with a little silver bow. She smiled, mumbled some words of gratitude, then took Scorpius back to the manor. Work was awful because her focus wasn’t on Spattergroit. Returning to the manor was awful because her boyfriend wasn’t there. By the time she put Scorpius to bed, Hermione wanted nothing more than to feel the warmth of Draco behind her when she woke up.

**.oOo.**

But Draco didn’t return on Thursday.

Hermione opened the box from Dean in her study that afternoon.

She cried.

It was ridiculous and most likely the hormones that did her in, but she hadn’t realized just how much she missed Draco until that moment. Staring up out of the box was a photo of Scorpius from Monday. He and Al were smiling at the camera with their hands outstretched, faces and hands covered in frosting. The frame was black so as not to detract from the bright colours of the photo. Hermione walked into Draco’s study and placed it on his desk.

Draco did not come home on Friday.

Hermione wanted to be angry at him and failed. She held Scorpius against her hip as she scanned through books in the manor library. She pulled one off the shelf and flipped it open. Scorpius placed his hand on one page and said,

“BOOK.”

“Yes, Scorp, it’s a—” Hermione froze. She calmly put the book back on the shelf and grabbed another one. “What is this?” she asked. Scorpius put his hand on the cover and shouted,

“BOOK!”

Hermione nodded and said, “Yes, Scorp, it’s a book. What about this one?” She pulled another book off the shelf and held it so he could put his hand on it.

“Book?” he asked with a smile. Hermione nodded and kissed the top of his head.

“Yeah, Scorp, it’s a book! You said a word and I am so proud of you! So proud.” She tickled his stomach and he playfully smacked her hands away. “You are going to be the brightest wizard of your age, I know it! Let’s go down to the kitchen and see if Uncle Blaise sent over any mangoes.”

Hermione was tempted to go to Bastien Queensbury’s flat and bang on the door until Draco dragged his arse outside to hear Scorpius’s first word. They were supposed to share these moments together! As much pride as Hermione had in that moment, it was equally matched by Draco’s absence. After she put Scorpius to bed she walked into Draco’s room and plucked her ring off the bedside table.

Saturday.

Hermione sat on top of four books in the parlor. There were several loose pieces of parchment strewn across the coffee table in front of her. She hadn’t bothered to do her hair, pulling it back into something that matched a very liberal definition of the word “bun.” The ointment for Spattergroit was complete so she was searching for one final project before taking leave. Sometime during her reading of the history of Black Cat Flu, there was a loud crack in one corner of the room. Hermione’s fingers froze on the page.

Anger.

Confusion.

Relief.

They all settled in her gut and made her want to vomit. Hermione couldn’t bring herself to look up at him. After five days of waiting Hermione realized she didn’t want to know. She would rather spend her life in stasis than listen to Draco Malfoy explain how he couldn’t be with her any longer. Not knowing would be better than experiencing the wrong outcome. She held her breath and asked,

“Are we finished?”

Draco didn’t reply for several moments. Hermione wondered if he’d heard her at all.

“I am not,” Draco said. Hermione hoped that was good but wasn’t certain what to make of it. She squashed all hope, unwilling to entertain that notion until Draco gave her reason to.

“Scorpius said his first word yesterday,” Hermione replied. She flipped a page to hide her shaking fingers. “’Book,’ of course. I wanted to go to you but did not know if you would see me.”

“I am sorry I missed it,” Draco said. Hermione believed him. They were quiet for a full minute, neither of them sure where to go. Hermione used her right hand to smooth out her hair. She did not look up to see whether Draco noticed the ring was still on her finger, but his relieved sigh was clue enough.

“I apologize for leaving,” Draco said. “It was wrong of me. I should have stayed, explained myself, and done better.”

Hermione felt no need to voice her agreement.

“Is it too late to explain myself now?” Draco asked.

“Only one way to find out,” Hermione quipped.

“I deserve that,” Draco conceded. “My biggest regret is pinning my anger on you. It, um, has to do with my father and I try to avoid thinking about him when possible. He tried to bend the world to his will and that did not stop with me. Actually, it was worst with me because for fifteen years I worshipped the ground he walked on. The first meaningful choice I ever had in my life was when I stood at the top of the Astronomy tower. Then Astoria gave me no choice in this, leaving me with a child no one believed I was capable of caring for.”

“I never doubted your capability,” Hermione replied without looking up. “I only wondered whether you would allow me to remain in Scorp’s life.”

“It is always like this with you.” Draco sighed. “I only ever need one person to believe in me, and that person always seems to be you. May I explain my actions last Monday?”

“I invite you to try,” Hermione quipped. She continued to stare at the pages in front of her, though the words were nothing more than blurs. “I have dealt with you and your relationships. How close you are to Blaise, the way you speak about that Queenie person, even the bloody President of MACUSA! Yet when I try to maintain a relationship with Ron, you demand I cut him out of my life because you can’t stand it.”

“Weasley knows you in a way I am only beginning to learn, and that hurts me. I was not angry at you, not at the core of it. I understand why you did not wish to tell me about our child but I am not that fragile, Hermione. I was afraid … I …” Draco swallowed hard. He was silent for so long that Hermione finally pried her eyes away from her book to look up at him.

He would have appeared fine to anyone who didn’t know him. He had borrowed a pair of Blaise’s jeans that were just a tad too tight around his thighs. She figured the button-down must be Bastien’s while his clothes from Monday had been balled up and tossed into a chair. The dark circles beneath his eyes gave him away, plus he’d allowed his hair to air dry and not put a bit of product in it. The little things Hermione had noticed were like that wraparound sign at Picadilly Circus with the words “DRACO MALFOY IS VERY UPSET” scrolling across the screen. He finally said,

“I love you more than my name, more than my father, more than Nicholas Malfoy and the eighteen Malfoys between them in my head screaming at me that my love for you is wrong. It is not and, yes, part of me still wondered if giving up my standing in Pureblood society was the right course. It is the right decision. I knew it then and I know it now. Every fucking time I doubt myself you are there to remind me I am capable of being the man my father never was. We are a team, and you said you don’t know how to do this without me but the last woman who had my child died! I was afraid because you are in the same position and if you died I would not be able to carry on. I needed time to understand the terror that comes with the thought of my world without you in it.”

Hermione stood from her column of books and walked over to hug him around the waist. Draco let out a full-body sigh before wrapping one arm around her shoulders.

“Can you forgive me?” he asked wearily.

“I dunno,” Hermione admitted. She thought about the lines on Draco’s chest. Scars made by Dark magic that would never heal. She had grown accustomed to the texture of them beneath her fingertips and against her stomach. Hermione had caught Draco more than once looking guiltily at the gash on her neck.

“Do you believe you will ever love me the way you loved Weasley?” Draco quietly asked.

“No,” Hermione replied. She felt Draco tense up, so she said, “Our scars run deeper than most. The difference between us and everyone else is that we do not expect these scars to heal. We are a team, Draco Malfoy. And I love you enough to trust that you are never going to leave like that again.”

“Will you come with me tomorrow?” Draco asked.

Hermione kissed his cheek and said, “Of course.”

**.oOo.**

June 3rd, 2007.

Draco couldn’t decide which flowers to pick from the garden. It took two hours before he decided on bluebells and orchids. Hermione watched from a bench as he paced, wondering whether he would make it to the cemetery at all.

Finally, flowers in hand, Draco took Scorpius via Apparition. Hermione waited a minute, wanting to give them time alone with Astoria before she Apparated to the cemetery. When she thought it appropriate, Hermione Apparated outside the cemetery. She looked at the wrought-iron gate and squinted, wondering where she went wrong.

_Odd. I specifically thought of that headstone with the cat._

“Petrificus Totalus!”

Hermione went rigid and fell backward with a sickening thud.

_Oh, God, no._

Blonde curls appeared at the edge of her vision and Hermione’s heart sank. She tried desperately to reach her wand, but no part of her body would move. Hermione tried just moving her toes and eventhey wouldn’t obey her command. Her fears were confirmed when a male voice said,

“Hurry up, babe! Replicate her shirt. Draco’s monologues only last so long.”

“Don’t I know it,” Queenie huffed. “Bastard could put Daniel Day-Lewis to shame.”

Hermione heard the rustling of fabric before someone opened the gate. She was pulled into a sitting position just in time to see her own silhouette disappear beyond the wall. The person had her hair and her shirt, and Hermione was willing to bet they had her face. Queenie Picquery pulled Hermione up by the collar of her shirt. Her eyes were a friendly brown colour, eyes that invited you to reveal all your secrets whether you intended to or not. Queenie tilted Hermione’s chin up and said,

“This is strike three.”


	35. Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Under all that pretense, under every atrocity she had committed, Queenie Picquery may know the difference between right and wrong."

_What is happening?_

“The brightest witch of our age can’t figure it out?” Queenie quipped. She tilted her head to one side. “Draco never spoke much about you. Potter and Weasley, he hated, but when it came to you he was suspiciously silent.”

If her legs could move Hermione would have kicked herself. They knew Astoria’s death date because it was right there on her headstone. If there was anywhere Draco was ever guaranteed to be, it was Astoria’s grave on June 3rd. The two of them had shown up without any thought or protection, and in the process they left Scorpius exposed.

Hermione tried to move her toes again but failed. The grass beneath her back did nothing to ease the stiffness of her spine. She tried to move even just her fingers to reach for her wand, but it was useless.

“Yes, you should stop trying,” Queenie insisted. “It’ll only make things harder. But you and me, we’re going to be here awhile. I’m sure you have questions for me.”

_You’re not that interesting._

“What has Draco told you about me?” Queenie asked. “It must not have been flattering. Let me see …”

Queenie blinked and when her eyes opened they were gold. Hermione tried to look away but couldn’t, they were mesmerizing. She had never seen anything like it, and before she could think Queenie dove headfirst into her mind. Unsure what she was looking for, she violated Hermione’s mind, her deepest secrets on display. Queenie pulled up anything she found interesting; Draco telling Hermione he loved her, Scorpius’s first steps, and President Mountcastle hugging Draco at the party.

“Ivyna?” she asked, surprised. “You two know Ivyna? No wonder you don’t like me. We only want the Time-Turner. That’s it. We just want the Time-Turner—”

_To go back in time and help Voldemort eradicate everyone like me. Not bloody likely. Draco destroyed it, anyway, so the two of you could never bring back the past._

Queenie hovered overtop of her. Unable to do anything but blink, Hermione wished she could turn her head to get those eyes away from her. Having her mind open for viewing like a goddamn art museum was agony.

“What do you mean he destroyed it?!” Queenie shouted. “Why would he do that? He was with us! He wanted to help us!”

_You don’t know anything about him._

“I know more than you’d like,” Queenie said with a sneer that would have made Draco proud. She bent closer to Hermione and said, “I may not be able to see into his mind, but I know him. I took him to Yankees games, force-fed him pizza, and gave him a home when no one else would!”

_I gave him a family._

“I gave him a family!” Queenie insisted. “Me, Jason, our friends, we are his family. Whatever he’s doing with you is nothing more than a sideshow for his son.”

 _Our son_.

“That boy is as much your son as he is mine,” Queenie snapped. “You give him the illusion of a family, of a life. Maybe you even convinced Draco he wants it. He is rather impressionable if you press the right buttons, and I know all about pressing Draco’s buttons.”

The innuendo was not lost on Hermione. It was fortunate for Queenie that Hermione could not move her hands. She tried desperately, so much her head ached with the effort.

 _You know nothing about him, so allow me to enlighten you. Draco Malfoy’s favourite book is_ Madeleine _because Scorpius enjoys the illustrations and he can read to Scorp in French. Draco is the only person on the planet who could eat an entire pint of blueberry ice cream. He is marvelous at the waltz but his favourite dance is the quickstep because it’s faster. He believes no meal should ever be served without some form of potatoes and his biggest insecurity is the Dark Mark on his left forearm, not because it’s hideous but because it reminds him of the man he never wanted to become._

“That sounds nothing like the Draco Malfoy I know,” Queenie scoffed. “He is quiet and full of … Of … I don’t know, he’s so serious all the time.”

_Serious? Two weeks ago, Draco let Sebastien put him in “time out” because he got caught cheating at chess. How much of himself did he have to keep hidden from you?_

“Hermione, don’t be such a bitch. This is girl talk,” Queenie said condescendingly.

_Oh, shut up._

Queenie slapped her across the face. Hermione felt the pain but couldn’t even wince. She couldn’t rub it away, so sting continued on.

“Tell me what you meant when you said Draco destroyed the Time-Turner!” Queenie insisted. When Hermione kept her mind purposefully blank, Queenie slapped her again. The pain in Hermione’s face intensified so much she felt her pulse thrum through the apple of her cheek.

“TELL ME!” Queenie shouted again. She stood up and Hermione realized she only had one shot at getting to Draco before something bad happened. One bit of magic that did not require a wand or movement. Queenie lifted her foot like she was about to kick Hermione and her blood ran cold.

_Not the stomach!_

Queenie paused.

“Why would you say that?” she asked quietly. When Hermione didn’t answer, she asked even louder. “Why would you say that?!”

Hermione focused on that patch of grass just inside the gates. She concentrated as hard as she could on and Apparated just inside the cemetery. She felt Queenie’s hand on her shoulder when she landed on the grass. Queenie shouted, “GODDAMN IT!” and clutched her right thigh. As though a heavy blanket had been pulled off, Hermione could feel her body again. She tested it by moving her fingers then struggled into a standing position.

Queenie Picquery knelt a metre or so away, biting down on her fist to keep from crying out. A chunk of her right thigh was missing, blood pouring from the wound as she tried to gather herself enough to cast a spell to stop the bleeding.

Then Hermione ran.

She prayed Draco hadn’t been fooled, or at least that he hadn’t returned to the manor with Jason Graves. Hermione ran through the cemetery, dodging headstones and tripping over loose dirt. It was a full minute before she caught sight of Draco. She shouted at him from ten metres away.

“Draco!”

He turned to face her and his entire body shuddered. Hermione’s legs nearly gave out when she saw what appeared to be herself holding Scorpius. He was bawling and Hermione reached for her wand.

“Grab your wand and you die.”

Hermione felt the tip of a wand against her neck. Jason Graves grabbed his wand and pointed it at her as Scorpius continued to cry in his arms. Draco looked between Scorp and Hermione like he was trying to solve a complex Arithmancy problem, that little eleven appearing between his eyebrows. He ground his teeth together, looked at Jason, and said,

“You fucking bastard!”

Hermione watched her face laugh but a completely foreign voice came out of her mouth.

“Is that any way to greet an old friend?” Jason asked.

“Show me your face,” Draco insisted, “so we can talk about this like civilized men.”

“Civilized?” Jason asked, stunned. “You’re shacking up with a Mudblood and you expect me to consider you civilized?”

Draco stepped forward, but Jason held Scorpius in front of his chest like a shield.

“YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO CALL HER THAT!” Draco shouted. “Hermione is my girlfriend and you are not permitted to address her in any fashion other than ‘Miss Granger.’ I will not hesitate to punch you no matter whose face you are wearing,” he threatened.

“It’s rather bold to be so demanding when your little pet has two wands pointed at her, wouldn’t you say?” Jason teased. His features morphed back into his own. His hair darkened and shortened as his face thinned out to reveal a good-looking man. It shouldn’t have been Hermione’s first thought, but it was. His lips were rather thin and shaggy hair touched the top of his shoulders. Stubble grazed his jaw and thick eyebrows were nearly straight lines overtop brown almond-shaped eyes. He had been living rather rough by the looks of it, but Hermione understood why someone like Queenie could fall for him.

A loud crack! sounded throughout the cemetery as Narcissa appeared in the middle of all of them. How in Merlin’s name she had such timing, Hermione could not even begin to guess. Queenie pressed her wand harder into the base of Hermione’s neck as Narcissa surveyed the scene. She nodded almost imperceptibly at her son before turning to face Jason.

“Speak,” she demanded.

“A true follower of the Dark Lord graces us with her presence!” Jason shouted. “Mrs. Malfoy, it is an honour to meet you.”

“You will address me as Lady Malfoy, Mister Graves,” Narcissa snapped. “Draco is late for tea, and now I know the cause. You consider yourself a follower of the Dark Lord, do you?”

“More than your son ever was,” he countered. Narcissa hummed approval.

“Yes, well, Draco has always been a disappointment in these areas. However, the Dark Lord never liked to be kept waiting … A trait we shared.”

Jason Graves smiled like a loon.

“See?! A woman of proper heritage. Apologies for his delay, Lady Malfoy, but how on earth have you been living with a Mudblood in your home?”

“Jason, I swear on Merlin’s grave if you call her that one more time—”

“Draco!” Narcissa snapped. “Quiet yourself, I am having a conversation. Now, Mister Graves, you are holding my grandson and it heightens my nerves to see him in unfamiliar arms. Should you agree, I would like to take him away from this before things get out of hand.”

Jason hesitated.

“The little Malfoy here is my leverage,” he said. Narcissa laughed in response.

“You have my useless son and a Mudblood against you. Do you truly believe they are a match for you and your delinquent girlfriend? On the other hand, were a spell to ricochet and hit my grandson, that is Pure blood unnecessarily spilled. We don’t want that.”

Hermione knew the insult put to her wasn’t real, but they had to get Scorpius to safety and only Narcissa had the means to do it. She lied to Lord Voldemort and Jason Graves was nothing in comparison.

“You have permission to take him from me,” Jason said. He looked disdainfully down at Scorpius. “Hasn’t shut the hell up since I took him, anyway.”

“He knows when he’s being lied to,” Hermione quipped, not quite sure where that burst of confidence came from.

“Silence, Miss Granger!” Narcissa said. “You and Draco are most impertinent today. And you, Mister Graves, you will find I do not need permission to hold my grandson.”

“Of course,” Jason said. Narcissa walked over to him and took Scorpius from his arms. Hermione exhaled heavily, but Draco shook with repressed rage.

“Thank you, Mister Graves” Narcissa said. She turned to face Hermione and said, “Be sure to keep your head about you,” before Disapparating.

The moment she was gone, Draco launched himself at Jason. He landed two punches before Jason shouted,

“Crucio!”

Draco fell backward in pain. He flopped on the cemetery grass like a fish fresh out of the ocean, his teeth gritted together to prevent Jason from receiving the satisfaction of his screams. His eyes were quickly red with the effort and he clutched at the dirt beneath him for purchase. Hermione took a step toward him but Jason pointed his wand at her and said,

“Nuh-uh, Mudbabe. I don’t think so.”

Queenie grabbed the back of Hermione’s shirt and shoved her wand into Hermione’s side. She winced as Draco pushed himself back into an unsteady standing position.

“I read about you in a magazine,” Queenie said. “It was enlightening.”

“How is that?” Hermione asked. She swallowed hard and locked eyes with Draco.

_Scorpius is safe and that is all that matters._

“You and Draco,” Jason said. “After all of what he did, what he told us, he came back here to shack up with some Mudblood bitch.”

“I am not Draco’s whore,” she insisted. “My name is Hermione Granger, Order of Merlin First Class, soon-to-be Chief Healer at St. Mungo’s Hospital.”

“I’ll call you Supreme Mudblood Bitch then,” Jason amended.

“Do you not understand who she is?” Draco asked, exasperated. “Hermione has faced people much more powerful than you and won. She has been tortured and spent a year of her life on the run to save the world from the very person you intend to resurrect. Hermione and I are not afraid of you.”

“You fucking should be!” Jason insisted. “Because of the four of us, Queenie and I are the ones with wands, so what we say goes.” Jason pointed his wand at Hermione. “And I say she goes.”

There were a few tense seconds where Hermione was certain she was about to die. Draco could only counter a spell from one person at a time, not two. If he attacked Jason, Queenie would kill her, and a spell to counter Queenie would only extend her life by seconds. She felt sick to her stomach. If they had just thought it through, asked Ivyna for protection, perhaps—

“She doesn’t have to die,” Jason insisted. He turned to face Draco and let his wand arm fall to his side. “Give us the Time-Turner and we will let her go.”

“We do not have it,” Draco admitted.

“They destroyed it,” Queenie confirmed. “I saw it in her mind; the Time-Turner is gone.”

Jason blinked several times without saying anything. Hermione saw the rage in his eyes from ten paces away.

“Did you do it?” He pointed his wand again at Hermione and asked, “Or did she?”

“I did,” Draco said firmly. “As was requested by the Head of the Auror Office,” Draco answered. Queenie tightened her grip on Hermione. The blood on Queenie’s jeans was drying, but maybe if Hermione hit the wound hard enough they could buy time to grab their wands.

“You were working for Harry Potter the entire time?” she asked.

“The entire time,” Draco confirmed. “Him and Ivyna.”

“IVYNA?!” Jason shouted. “How many Mudblood whores can you fit into your life, Draco? One for every day of the week?”

“I only needed six, since I had your girlfriend on Tuesdays,” Draco shot back.

Draco loved to say Hermione was predictable, but there was nothing more intuitive than Jason Graves full-tilt launching himself at Draco after that remark. They punched each other repeatedly for about a minute before Jason lost his wand. Draco reached for his own and at the end they were standing, chests heaving, wands pointed at each other.

“If either one of you moves, I will kill her,” Queenie said over Hermione’s shoulder.

Draco closed his eyes for a moment and said, “You can’t.”

“Try me,” Queenie said, pressing her wand even further into Hermione’s side. “You call me a whore and you don’t think I’ll take it out on her?!”

“No, I do not,” Draco insisted, eyes and wand still trained on Jason. “She is my family.”

“Fuck that!” Queenie shouted. “We are your family!”

“Not anymore,” Jason insisted. “Kill her.”

“Don’t!” Draco begged. Hermione hated hearing him plead for her life. “You can have me if you let Hermione go.”

“You would sacrifice yourself for her?” Queenie asked. Hermione sensed hesitance and thought maybe she could get to her wand … But Queenie heard that and pushed her wand as far as she could into Hermione’s ribs. “Why would you do that?”

“Because she is pregnant,” Draco said without thought.

Everything went completely still. The four of them needed time to process that statement as the chill and silence of the cemetery returned in force. Jason shook himself out of it first and said,

“It doesn’t matter, Queenie! They took our entire plan away from us! Her life in recompense for the Time-Turner is fair, so take it.”

No one moved.

“He fucked the Mudblood!” Jason insisted. “Babe, he isn’t the Draco Malfoy we knew. Apparently, he never was.”

Queenie looked between Draco and Jason, her hand trembling on her wand.

“Was anything between us real?” she asked Draco. He nodded.

“Our friendship was the best thing about New York,” Draco replied. His wand arm wavered. “And I know you do not want to kill my girlfriend. I know you better than that.”

“Shut up!” Jason replied. “You don’t know shit about what we’ve been doing since you left and you destroyed all of it! We don’t value the same things anymore.”

“We never did,” Draco replied.

Hermione couldn’t remember the last thing she said to Scorpius. She didn’t remember the last thing she said to her parents or to Harry. Death had always felt so far away; getting through the war gave Hermione reason to believe she could escape anything. This felt different … This was true fear. She was surprised her knees didn’t buckle with the weight of the rest of her life pressing down on her, coupled with the push of Queenie’s wand into her waist.

“Queenie, I know you and we always wanted the same thing, right?” Draco asked, desperation apparent in his voice. “We both wanted a real family that makes us feel loved in the best way.”

“Yeah,” she replied. Her voice cracked on the syllable and she let go of Hermione’s shirt.

“Queenie, babe,” Jason pleaded, “do the right thing here. “Draco took our future so you have to take his.”

“I don’t know …” she said. That hesitance gave Hermione a moment of hope that Draco had been right the entire time. Under all that pretense, under every atrocity she had committed, Queenie Picquery may know the difference between right and wrong.

“I lost Astoria on this day,” Draco said. “Do not make me lose the love of my life and my child, too.”

_If the last thing I get to hear is you calling me the love of your life, at least I’ll have that._

If her voice wasn’t paralyzed by fear, Hermione would have said it back.

Then Queenie dropped her wand arm. Hermione could hardly believe it and staggered away from her, breathing heavily. Queenie shook her head and said,

“One of us deserves to have what we want. I’m sorry, honey, I can’t take it away from Draco. I can’t,” she said, her voice breaking. “I won’t do it.”

“Then I will!” Jason shouted.

All three of them shouted, Hermione ignoring them all to go for her own wand. She grabbed it in time to cast _Protego Maxima!_ A shield charm so powerful it knocked all three of them off their feet, just as the air around them turned bright green.

Hermione’s chest heaved, her wand arm still out to maintain the shield. Draco pulled himself into a sitting position and Hermione had no words to describe the relief that washed over her. She wasn’t going to lose anyone after all, and she would live to see another day. Queenie, on the other hand, ran and fell to her knees next to Jason Graves. Tears trailed down her face and her entire right trouser leg was stained with blood. Hermione realized Jason hadn’t moved. He hadn’t blinked.

Jason Graves was dead.

Hermione lowered the shield charm and watched as Queenie looked down at her own hands in disbelief.

“I had to.” She sobbed and repeated, “I had to, Draco, I had to.”

Draco stood but was also at a loss for words.

“He was gonna kill her,” Queenie said. She tried to take a deep breath but couldn’t hold it down. Queenie tentatively ran her fingertips across his hand. She sputtered, “I heard it … in his head. He wasn’t gonna stop until she died and … And I can’t live chasing after the two of you anymore. Oh, God,” she threw herself onto Jason’s chest.

Another crack! surprised everyone. They all jumped; both Draco and Hermione pointed their wands at the new arrival. Hermione was relieved to see President Mountcastle. She took her time surveying the scene.

“Narcissa sent word as soon as she left. Hermione, you are free to go. You shouldn’t be here, not in your condition. You know where Scorpius is,” she said, unwilling to divulge that information before Queenie was in custody. “I will send Draco after you once we are finished.”

Hermione looked to Draco. He nodded at her before running his hands through his hair. Hermione didn’t want to leave him but desperately needed to see her son. Hermione Disapparated and hoped she knew Narcissa Malfoy well enough to know where she took Scorpius. Hermione had a fairly good guess, but couldn’t be certain until she walked up the steps and knocked on the door. When it opened she asked,

“Mum, do you have my son?”


	36. You're Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hermione, I swear, you have to let me get this out in one go or I will lose the confidence to say it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw the new Fantastic Beasts film today and did Queenie's character arc look familiar to anyone else?

“Don’t touch me.”

Hermione was insistent about it upon entering her parents’ house. Scorpius was safe in Mr. Granger’s arms but he reached out to Hermione the moment he saw her. She wiped the tears from his cheeks and booped his nose. Hermione said,

“Everything is alright now, Scorp. You’re safe.”

She sat on the sofa and her whole body shook. Hermione wanted to hold Scorpius but was afraid she may drop him. The tremors racked her ribcage most of all and Hermione felt like she may be sick. No one had ever gotten close enough to threaten her family before. She had never been so afraid, not even when Hagrid had walked out of the Forbidden Forest carrying what she believed to be Harry’s body. Hermione was of half a mind to never let Scorpius out of her arms again.

“Narcissa, are you alright?” Mr. Granger asked, pulling Hermione from her thoughts. Lady Malfoy nodded and grabbed another biscuit. She was perched on the edge of Mrs. Granger’s armchair, fingers clutching at the cushion.

“I am fine. Draco is fine. He is one of the most accomplished Occlumens in the world, you know. He can handle himself in these areas. Merlin knows he should have died twelve times before, no reason for him to start now.” She grabbed her cup of tea and the hand holding the saucer wavered.

Mrs. Granger brought out a plate of sausage rolls and sat it on the coffee table in front of Narcissa.

“When were you planning to tell us you’re pregnant?” she asked. Hermione groaned. “Narcissa told us weeks ago, but we were waiting for you.”

Lady Malfoy said, “I was bursting with the news, I had to tell someone!”

“I planned to tell you after I told Draco,” Hermione admitted. “Then I told him and forgot about telling everyone else because he didn’t take it well. I, um, I think we are okay now but … I don’t know. We didn’t plan any of this and now we are having a child and …” She paused to take a deep breath. “I am terrified.”

“Oh, honey,” Mr. Granger said. He looked like he was about to say something but thought better of it. “Let me just say I know where that boy’s heart is, and it’s right there in your hands. You and Draco can get through anything together, but you don’t have to because you have all of us, too.” There was a knock on the door and Hermione’s father wondered, “Perhaps Mister Malfoy has finally decided to grace us with his presence.”

“Give Scorp to Narcissa,” Hermione demanded. “No one gets to see him until they have made their introduction and I have deemed them safe. I am not going to be fooled twice in one day.”

Mr. Granger obliged her request and Lady Malfoy held Scorp in one arm while eating her sausage roll in the other. Hermione was still shaking down to her toes. She prayed it was Draco at the door. She needed to see him, needed to see with her own eyes that he was alive and well.

“You must be Mr. Granger!” came the voice in the doorway. “Oh, how lovely to meet you!”

“Oh, um, yes,” Mr. Granger stuttered as their newest visitor trapped him in a tight hug. “Who are you?”

“Oh, sorry!” She dropped her arms and said, “I’m Ivyna Mountcastle, President of the Magical Council of the United States of America. And you are Hermione’s dad! Oh, it is so nice to see more Muggle parents. You all really are the most level-headed people in the universe.”

“Hermione?” her father called from the doorway.

“Bring her in,” Hermione shouted back. She hoped she was able to conceal the disappointment in her voice. Ivyna walked into the living area with Mr. Granger right behind her. She surveyed the room and her eyes landed on Scorpius.

“That is definitely Draco’s child and he is adorable! Oh, how rude, I haven’t introduced myself.” She turned to Mrs. Granger who was standing between the couch and the armchair, stunned. Ivyna hugged her and said, “You must be Hermione’s mom! My name is Ivyna and you have such a nice home. Also, Lady Malfoy, a joy to see you. Draco is doing just fine, he should be right behind me, just helping my crew fix everything up—”

There was another knock on the door and Hermione shot out of her chair so quickly she tripped over her own feet. She stumbled, grabbed the wall as she turned into the hallway, then flung open the door.

Draco was there on top of the welcome mat. His shirt was untucked and his trousers were stained from time spent on the cemetery ground, but he was there and he was alive. Before Hermione could process any more Draco was in her face, hands on her cheeks, kissing her like he never needed to come up for air. Hermione wrapped her fingers in the fabric of his shirt and pulled him across the threshold. His hands made their way over her shoulders and down her sides, as though needing the touch to confirm she was real.

“I am so glad you are okay,” Draco said when he finally pulled himself away. He had to take a couple steps backward to keep from touching her again. He glanced down toward her stomach and asked, “Both of you?”

“Both of us,” Hermione confirmed with a smile.

Draco stepped around her and walked into the living area, which had become rather cramped. Narcissa shot out of her seat to wrap Draco, and Scorpius by proxy, in a fierce hug. She let them go, smiled, then whacked Draco upside the head.

“Never frighten me like that ever again!” Lady Malfoy demanded as she returned to the chair. Draco knelt down to be on Scorp’s level. He ruffled his son’s hair and received a half-hearted raspberry in return. Draco smiled and said,

“There is my boy. Thank fucking Merlin you are okay. I am never letting you out of my sight again.”

“Might be a bit tricky once we send him off to Hogwarts,” Hermione quipped.

“I’ll apply for Potions Master,” Draco shot back. He stood, glared at Ivyna, and said, “You and I need to have words.”

“Speak them,” Ivyna challenged. Draco grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into the kitchen. Hermione prepared to follow them and bent down to kiss the top of Scorp’s head along the way.

“I’ll be right back, I promise,” she said. He reached out to grab her, to make her stay, and Hermione held his hand between two fingers. She looked into his grey eyes and repeated, “I promise.”

Ivyna and Draco were already shouting when Hermione cast _Muffliato_ on the kitchen entrance.

“Murder?!”

“Yes, I am charging her with murder.”

“He was a wanted fugitive who was about to kill my pregnant girlfriend!”

“A scheme she was part of until the last moment!” Ivyna said. “Why the hell would she kill her boyfriend? Queenie was brainwashed, she was his plaything and happy that way. You mean to tell me that she was so moved by you, Draco fucking Malfoy, that she would kill the love of her life?”

“I told you she is a good person,” Draco insisted. “She will do the right thing when it matters most—”

“And you’ve always been a great judge of character,” Hermione said facetiously.

Draco took a deep breath in, but said nothing for several moments. They stood in awkward silence, waiting for Draco’s assessment. He looked up toward the ceiling and admitted,

“Charge her with kidnapping and trespassing, but people who make the right choice in the end do not deserve to be imprisoned in perpetuity. A threat I am intimately familiar with.”

“You are blind, Draco Malfoy,” Ivyna replied. “Do you think murder is her toughest charge? Try international terrorism! This is not just about you and Granger. Revivalists were threatening the northeastern US for years before you came over. It hardly matters if she did one good thing! What about all the curses she broke so Revivalists could enter the homes of their victims? All the times she stood watch while Jace tortured and murdered innocent people? What am I supposed to tell the people who buried their families and friends after they fell to the hands of Revivalists?! She killed the right person this time so all is forgiven? Hermione is right that you are no judge of character.”

Draco glanced quickly at Hermione before returning his focus to Ivyna.

“What about the lives she saved in killing him?”

“An unknown quantity!” Ivyna shouted. “I deal in what is, Draco! I deal in reality! And the reality is if you had any fucking sense you would have asked Hermione to marry you months ago. You are so blind you haven’t even realized your son is a Seer!”

Draco grabbed onto the kitchen island for support. Hermione had suspected something was amiss, but a Seer? The pieces of the puzzle finally fell into place. Ivyna rolled her eyes.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t know. The visions that keep him awake are the reasons you play him music to get to sleep. You said he started crying when Jason took him at the cemetery? That’s because he had seen this event before. They said you two were the smartest wizards Europe had seen since the age of Grindelwald and Dumbledore but from where I stand the both of you are idiots. Hermione for staying with you and you for every other thing you’ve done in your life. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to bid your parents goodbye since I have serious legal work ahead of me.”

Ivyna smoothed out her hair then abruptly left the kitchen. Hermione didn’t move and neither did Draco. Eventually he said,

“I have no idea how to raise a child who is a Seer.”

“Does anyone?” Hermione asked.

“I apologize for being a shithead these past few weeks,” Draco said with a sigh.

“Apology accepted,” Hermione replied. “If I’m being honest, all I want is to go home.”

**.oOo.**

Lily Luna Potter was born on June 4th.

Draco received an owl early on the morning of June 5th. It knocked so loudly on their bedroom window it even woke Hermione. Draco yawned, rolled out of bed, and stumbled over to the window. When he opened it, the owl offered him a single piece of parchment with a bow stuck to the upper-right corner. Draco glanced down at it and laughed.

Hermione rolled onto her side and asked, “What is it”

“A birthday present from Ivyna,” he replied. Draco slid back into bed and handed Hermione the note. She read the two words aloud.

“ **You’re free**.”

Draco plucked the paper from her fingers and crumpled it before tossing it onto the floor.

“That means Queenie is back in America?” Hermione asked. Draco smiled then kissed her shoulder.

“And we are free to do what we want, no longer a danger to Scorp or to our friends. The second-best birthday present I could hope for.”

“The first?” Hermione asked. Draco grinned and slid further down into the covers. He pushed up the hem of her nightdress and Hermione leaned back onto the pillows. “Is this a present for you or for me?”

“A team gift,” he answered.

Hermione’s eyes fluttered shut as Draco pressed a finger inside her, one knuckle deep.

“Hmm … Are you going to do this even when my stomach is the size of a cauldron?”

Draco added a finger and said, “I am offended you would ask. Your body may change, but my enjoyment of it will not. Honestly, I am rather looking forward to the upcoming months since your tits will be huge.”

Hermione giggled.

“Well, get on with it!” she demanded. “It’s rude to leave a present unfinished.”

**.oOo.**

Hermione was glowing when they stepped out of Harry’s Floo that evening. He greeted her with a tight hug and Draco with a handshake.

“Where’s Ginny?” Hermione asked.

“In the sitting room,” Harry answered. Hermione made to find her, but Harry grabbed Draco’s arm and pulled him back. “I need to have a moment with Malfoy. Hermione paused so Harry said, “Alone.”

Hermione looked at Harry and could immediately tell he knew about the baby. Ron must have told him. Hermione shrugged and shouted over her shoulder as she left the room.

“Leave him in one piece!”

Hermione entered the sitting room to see Ginny lounging on the couch reading that month’s issue of _Quidditch Quarterly._ When she saw Hermione, Ginny lifted herself off the sofa and sped over to give Hermione a hug.

“It’s so good to see you!”

Hermione hugged her gently and said, “It’s great to see you too. How are you doing?” Ginny groaned in reply. Hermione asked, “That bad?”

“Well, my crotch is a waterfall and between the two of us Harry and I have gotten maybe ten hours of sleep in the past three days … But otherwise I’m fanbloodytastic,” she said with a smile. “Do you want to see her?”

“Of course!” Hermione replied. She followed Ginny upstairs and asked, “What do you mean about the waterfall? Is that, um, a normal thing?”

“Yeah,” Ginny admitted, “everything with Lily was normal. Hannah does a great job midwifing. Al and Jay are with my mum so we can focus all our attention on Lily. Isn’t she lovely?”

They had arrived in Lily’s nursery and Hermione smiled. She had small tufts of ginger hair and a button nose. They had wrapped her in a blanket covered in little Snitches. Lily looked peaceful in sleep and Ginny looked so happy. Hermione gave her a one-armed hug and said,

“She’s beautiful.”

“Yeah,” Ginny replied. “This is our last child. Harry and I decided three is a good number for us. No need to go full Weasley and have eight.” Hermione followed Ginny back out into the hallway and before she could go downstairs Hermione called her back.

“Ginny! I have to tell you something.” She turned around, eyes bright, smile wide. Hermione took a deep breath and said, “Draco and I are having a baby.”

Ginny’s smile fell and she said, “Oh.”

“Oh?” Hermione asked, confused.

“OH!” Ginny said. She hugged Hermione and said, “Congratulations! I am happy for both of you. I knew it would work out, didn’t I?”

“You didn’t sound happy at first,” Hermione challenged. “Why?”

“Honestly?” Ginny asked. “I thought you were going to say you’re engaged.”

Hermione dropped her shoulders and looked nervously down at the floor. She grimaced as she realized all the hints everyone had dropped, all the opinions people weren’t afraid to express in front of her. Whether it was Narcissa insinuating months ago that Draco had asked for an engagement ring or Ivyna outright telling him he should have proposed months earlier … Everyone thought Hermione and Draco’s relationship should be in a different place. Hermione sidled past Ginny and walked down the stairs. Ginny followed her and said,

“But this is just as good! I really am happy for you! Both of you!”

Hermione blinked away the tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

“Are you, though?” Hermione asked. “Are any of you?”

“Of course!” Ginny insisted. “I know you have something special, Hermione. I know Malfoy sees it, too. So why are you not engaged? You have been through so much in such a short time and … And maybe none of us understand and that’s okay. I can’t say what is and isn’t best for you.”

“But you’re not wrong, are you?” Hermione asked. “He hasn’t asked and we haven’t spoken about it, so maybe there is something wrong between us. I dunno, Gin. Congratulations, Lily really is a beautiful baby, but I need to go.”

“Hermione!” Ginny shouted after her, but she was at the door rather quickly. Draco and Harry looked up from their deep conversation. Harry asked,

“Hermione? Where are you going, you barely said a word—”

“Just need to clear my head,” Hermione said as she walked out the door. Draco was right behind her once she reached the street.

“Hermione?” he asked. She turned away from him and elected not to respond. He repeated, “Hermione, love, are you panicking? Are you alright?”

She turned to face him and the tears spilled over.

“No to both,” Hermione answered. She wiped her eyes clear and started walking toward the shops. Godric’s Hollow was loveliest in the summer. Winter here held some horrifying memories, but it was lush and green in the summertime. The houses were wonderful to look at and the shopping was second-to-none in this part of Wizarding England.

Draco fell into step beside her.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

“Do you?” Hermione parroted back.

“What did Potter #2 say to upset you?” Draco asked. “Did you tell her our news?”

“Why haven’t you asked me to marry you?” Hermione asked. Draco stopped dead in his tracks and threw his hands in the air, his exasperation evident.

“Bloody hell, is that what this is?!” he shouted. Hermione kept walking. “No, Hermione, you do not get to walk away after asking me that question!”

People had begun to stare. Hermione huffed and returned to stand in front of Draco, arms crossed in defiance.

“Why do you think I have not asked you to marry me?” Draco asked. He was trying to remain calm, but something about the question irritated him.

“I have no idea!” Hermione shouted.

“If it was bothering you then you should have asked me,” Draco insisted. “I am not going to spend the rest of our lives trying to determine what is in your head. I’m a master of Occlumency, not Legilimency!”

“Right, between being nearly killed by international fugitives and an unplanned pregnancy, I should have just slipped it into the conversation,” Hermione replied facetiously.

“You are right that I want to marry you,” Draco admitted. He looked around at everyone staring, people glancing out their windows to catch sight of the pair of them. He and Hermione wordlessly agreed this was not the place for the conversation they needed to have. Draco offered Hermione his hand then Apparated back to Malfoy Manor. He helped Hermione sit on the sofa and stood in front of her. “Shorter visit than I had planned.”

“We don’t seem to be good at planning,” Hermione quipped.

“What I am about to tell you will take a moment, and I want you to promise not to interrupt me while I am saying it,” Draco insisted.

“I promise,” Hermione replied.

Draco paced in front of her for several moments, almost like he was considering an exit strategy. Perhaps he didn’t want to admit his reasoning after all. Eventually, he settled back in front of Hermione with his arms crossed over his chest.

_Defensive is never a good sign with him._

“I want to marry you,” Draco repeated. “I thought about it before you even agreed to be my girlfriend, but I never thought it would happen. I never believed you could see anything redeemable in me, let alone agree to date me. Part of me still does not understand it.”

“I—”

“Hermione, I swear, you have to let me get this out in one go or I will lose the confidence to say it.”

Hermione closed her mouth and nodded.

“I love you more than I will ever love anyone in my life,” Draco admitted. Hermione smiled at that. There was still hope. “When Queenie had her wand pointed at you I was terrified our friendship would not be enough for her to see reason. I was afraid I would lose you and I don’t know what I would have done. They likely would have killed me, too, but living without you is not … I dunno, all I know is you look at my scars with empathy instead of pity or expecting me to be ashamed of them. You see me as a man, as a father, as a partner, not as a Malfoy. While there may be other men out there who can make you happy, there is no one in the world who could compare to how intensely you make me feel everything. Pain, happiness, and everything between … It is all intensified when I am with you.

“But I know you, Hermione Granger. I listen to you and I understand the way you view the world. I want to marry you. I want you to be the mother of my children, the lady of the manor, the Chief Healer at St. Mungo’s, and Minister for Magic. You can be all those things and I will always support you. You may doubt my commitment but I have had your engagement ring for months. I even sought your father’s permission because that is Malfoy tradition.

“However, our relationship is between us. When I get down on one knee to ask you to marry me I want you to have the ability to say no. That moment will be ours alone; it is not something for others to see. I want you to have a choice, not pressure you into it. I sure as hell am not going to ask you to marry me simply because everyone else thinks I should have done it already. I am going to ask you when we are alone, when we are happy, and when I have finally convinced you that there is no man who will ever love you more than me.”


	37. Crixus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And I was like, baby, baby, baby, ooh ...

Hermione told Trisha first.

“Oh my GOD!”

Which, by proxy, meant telling the entirety of the Maeve Ward. Hermione smiled awkwardly and stirred the boiling cauldron in front of her.

“Instead of promoting you in March, you’ll be taking over the Maeve Ward in December,” she said. “We decided I should take off the last couple months to avoid any, um, accidents. And I am so bloody tired all the time now.”

“Yes, great about the promotion,” Trisha said with a dismissive wave, “but what about the baby?! Oh my, I am so happy for you, this is amazing news! Malfoy really does look at you like you pull the sun into the sky every morning.”

“I am never awake that early,” Hermione teased.

“What are you going to do about a surname?” Trisha asked. Hermione blanched.

“We haven’t gotten that far, yet.”

“I mean, it’s obviously a Malfoy, but also a Granger since you’re not married yet. Which is totally okay! No judgement, but Malfoy-Granger or Granger-Malfoy? What the hell am I going to get you for a gift? Oh my goodness, as soon as the boy can stir a cauldron I will be tutoring him in potions.”

“And inducting him into your underground butterbeer ring, I have no doubt,” Hermione quipped. Trisha shrugged.

“If he has skill. But if your son has half your intellect I’d be a fool not to.”

**.oOo.**

Draco staged an intervention in the middle of July. Hermione walked into the parlor to see Harry and Ron on the sofa. She rolled her eyes and asked,

“There’s no rare bookstore trip, is there?”

“Afraid not, ‘mione,” Ron answered. Draco glared at him.

“She was asking me, you bloody Weasel.”

“Yes, I was,” Hermione insisted. “What are they doing here?”

“The three of you need to talk this out,” Draco replied.

“Talk what out?” Hermione asked.

“This!” Draco shouted, waving his hand to vaguely indicate the space between the three of them. He lowered his voice to say, “I have my friends and they like you, but they are still more tied to my experiences than they are to yours. I know your friends do not understand what you see in me and, honestly, there are times when I don’t either. However, you cannot keep them out of your life, Hermione. It is not fair to you for my friends to be the only part of our support system for Scorp and for as-yet-unnamed Malfoy-Granger. If you truly do not want to involve them in this because of their opinions about our relationship that is fine, but you need to give them another chance.”

“I hate you so much right now,” Hermione groaned. “I hate when you’re right.”

“Of course I am right!” Draco scoffed. “Do you think I would invite Weasley into my home if it was not important?”

Which is how Hermione wound up sitting across from Harry and Ron in the back of a Muggle bar. She glared at their beer, drank her water, and sulked.

“How is life with Malfoy?” Harry asked.

“Great,” Hermione shrugged. “I hate being served by house-elves and I still don’t know what to think of his mum, but he makes me feel really good. And he is such a great dad. Now that there’s no one trying to kill us, life is quite nice.”

“What good is life if you’re not the target of homicidal loons once a decade?” Ron joked.

Harry took a deep breath and said, “I feel like we owe you an apology.”

“Probably,” Hermione said. “Go on.”

“He’s still Draco Malfoy, Hermione, and it’s weird,” Ron insisted. Harry groaned and started talking over him.

“I think we were—well, are, a bit confused because you two do everything backwards. First you had a kid, then you moved in together, then you started dating. Now you’re having another kid. You are my best friend and I want to understand what’s happening.”

“We’re having another kid, that is what’s happening,” Hermione quipped. Their waiter sat some chips on the table and Hermione dragged them toward her before Ron could reach the plate.

“I was gonna, just—” he said, but Hermione popped a chip into her mouth and pretended not to hear him.

“At first I was terrified because, like you said, it’s Draco Malfoy and I haven’t had my memory wiped. He was awful to me, and that is putting it lightly, and he was shit to both of you, too.”

“What changed, then?” Ron asked. “Why the hell would you change your mind about him?”

“Because he changed,” Hermione admitted. “The first day he was back, he apologized to me. Then he asked whether I thought he could be a good father to Scorpius. Draco wanted my opinion—he needed it. He never even entertained the notion of forcing me out of Scorp’s life, never made me feel like anything less than family when he had every right to.”

“Well, you could have adopted Scorpius before he got back,” Ron insisted. “Then he wouldn’t—”

“Mhmm-mmm,” Hermione countered, shaking her head. “No, we knew Draco was still alive and we knew Scorp was Draco’s son. I couldn’t have legally adopted Scorp without notifying the father, and that would have ruined everything Draco was doing in New York. I had to wait until he got back to figure things out and he was fairly gracious about it.”

“He said sorry then you decided, ‘Great, let’s shag now?’” Ron asked. Harry sniggered and Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Yes. That is exactly what happened, Ronald. Would you like the details? Do you want to know how much I like it when he—”

“Whoa! No, nope!” Harry waved his hands. “Stopping that conversation right there before my brain starts bleeding out my ears.”

“No, I just …” Hermione trailed off. “I like that he supports me. I doubt myself sometimes because I don’t know how to be a good mum. I want to make bad decisions and Draco is always there to say whatever is holding me back is nothing. He can take care of any obstacles in my path and all I have to do is be exactly who I am. And he is happy with that! I’m not taking advantage of him; I never feel bad about what he does for me. He feels like he owes me that, and I agree. But more than that, he changed because he saw what it means to be a good person and he didn’t want to be like his father.”

Harry and Ron didn’t say anything for a minute. Hermione went back to her water and noticed she had eaten nearly half the chips. Eventually, Harry nodded to himself.

“I want you to be happy, Hermione. If Malfoy makes you happy then I am glad to hear it.”

“What Harry isn’t saying is we know he loves you more than hair gel and don’t understand why you aren’t engaged,” Ron translated. Hermione nodded.

“I was wondering when you’d get there,” she admitted.

“Is it the Pureblood thing?” Ron asked. “Because he may be a bastard but that doesn’t seem like him. I think he’d love to fuck over his father by marrying you.”

“That’s true,” Harry agreed.

“He doesn’t want to ask me just because everyone else thinks he should,” Hermione said. “Our focus is on my pregnancy and Scorpius, which I think is the right thing to do.”

“You can’t be engaged and pregnant at the same time?” Ron asked, confused.

“Being engaged to Draco Malfoy isn’t just ‘being engaged,’ Ron,” Hermione quipped. “Have you gone fucking mad?! It’s photographs, magazine articles, our faces plastered on the front page of the _Prophet_ for months on end, dress fittings, Narcissa Malfoy being Narcissa Malfoy …” Hermione sighed. “I can barely stay awake fourteen hours a day, let alone deal with an engagement.”

Ron stole the plate.

“When do you think it’ll happen, then?” Harry asked.

“That is none of your business,” Hermione shot back.

“Means she doesn’t know,” Ron said through a mouthful of chips.

“It means if you don’t choose your words more carefully you’ll find your bollocks at the bottom of the Thames,” she threatened. Ron held up his hands in a gesture of surrender and Harry laughed.

“Merlin, I have missed this,” he said.

“Me too,” Hermione admitted. “I miss all my friends. You most of all, but I hate everyone making judgements about my relationship with Draco. I worry enough about what Scorp will think of me when he gets older. Will he really think I’m his mother? Or will some part of him always wonder what would have been if Astoria had lived … What if he prefers that over me?”

“He won’t,” Harry insisted.

“Yeah, ‘mione, he won’t,” Ron agreed.

“You can’t know that!” Hermione insisted. “You can’t know it for certain. I want everything to be right, so that when Scorp asks about his real mother—”

“Birth mother,” Ron corrected. “Not to diminish Astoria’s role in all this, but family is not about blood, Hermione. It’s just not.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “Look at how the Dursleys treated me. Blood doesn’t mean anything unless you want it to.”

“Exactly!” Ron said. “You and Harry are my family. Scorpius is going to grow up to be a very good kid because you’re his mum. And I’m sure he will learn a lot about hair products from his dad.”

Hermione kicked Ron underneath the table.

“Be nice,” she demanded.

“Ron is trying to say that Scorpius will not think of you as anything less than his mum because you’ll never give him reason to. Astoria would have loved him and you stepped up to fill that role when she couldn’t,” Harry said.

“I’m scared he will go to Draco when he’s five and ask why he doesn’t look like me,” Hermione admitted. Ron leaned forward a bit and took a sip from his beer. He sat his glass down on the table and asked,

“Do you trust Malfoy to give the right answer?”

“I do.”

He smiled and said, “Then I trust the ferret to do right by you.”

**.oOo.**

They announced Hermione’s pregnancy in October. The rumours had circulated for months, but once Hermione left the manor at six months pregnant there really wasn’t another course of action to pursue. She threatened to hex anyone whose hands got too close to her stomach and Romilda was constantly in and out of the manor with new clothes.

The hardest part was explaining it to Scorpius. It was difficult because he almost seemed to understand before they told him. He would stare at Hermione’s stomach and put his hands on it. One day while Hermione was lying on the sofa in her study, he felt the little Malfoy-Granger kick and his eyes went wide. He started crying,

“Monster?!”

Draco laughed and ruffled his son’s hair.

“No, Scorp, not a monster, a sibling.”

Scorpius’s eyes somehow managed to get even wider. He put both hands on Hermione’s stomach the way a Muggle psychic would touch a crystal ball.

“Bruh-zzer?”

“Yes, Scorp,” Hermione smiled, “a little brother.”

He continued to stare, mystified. It filled Hermione with joy that Scorp had no concept of half-brother or blood ties, he just wanted a younger sibling. Hermione started crying and quickly wiped away the tears.

“How are you feeling?” Draco asked, concerned.

“Like I’m ready to have this child already,” Hermione admitted.

**.oOo.**

Hermione had their baby on the evening of January 14th. Hannah Longbottom dabbed her forehead with a damp cloth, and they agreed not to touch her hair since it was simply too much to handle. She wanted to sleep, but the look on Draco’s face was something she wanted etched onto her brain. He held their son with reverence, as though their baby was the reason the world kept spinning.

She did nap for a bit and woke up to nurse before their parents sped into the room.

“Oh my God!” Mrs. Granger shouted from the doorway. “He is adorable!”

“He looks like a squished peach, Mum,” Hermione wearily countered. Draco laughed.

“The sass never stops with you,” he said.

“’s why you love me,” she replied.

“One of many, many reasons,” Draco said. He sat on the side of the bed next to Hermione and offered their son to Narcissa. She looked at him the way she looked at Scorpius the first time Hermione had brought him to the manor.

“How are you feeling, honey?” Hermione’s father asked. She groaned.

“’m okay. Sweaty. Tired. My chest hurts, is that normal?” she asked no one in particular.

“Yes!” Hannah, Mrs. Granger, and Lady Malfoy answered simultaneously.

“What is his name?” asked Mrs. Granger. Draco patted Hermione’s shoulder to wordlessly inform her she need not spend energy forming an answer.

“Hermione and I discussed this at length. I said Salazar as a joke but she did not seem to find it funny. She threw a book at me.”

“You are stalling, Draco, which gives me cause to believe I will not like your decision on this matter,” said Lady Malfoy.

Hermione felt Draco’s fingers tighten around her shoulder. She had cautioned him not to get defensive, but it was a bit difficult to explain how they arrived at their decision. Draco squared his shoulders and said,

“It was different with Scorp. He was destined to be a Malfoy, named after me and given a name in tradition of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. His brother, conversely, is of many lines and traditions. The first thing we agreed on was hyphenating his surnames.”

“And which came first,” Hermione reminded him. She was shocked at how weak her voice sounded in her ears. Draco moved to wrap his arm around her shoulders.

“Yes, his surname will be Malfoy-Granger. I offered to split it and make Granger his only official surname, but we were concerned that would alienate him from Scorpius and from me, so we decided against that course.”

“I agree,” Narcissa replied. “His given names, then?”

“I took my cue from Harry Potter for his second name.”

The entire room groaned.

“Draco Malfoy, if you named this child Albus or Severus I swear on Maeve’s grave—”

“I would never let him,” Hermione croaked. She rolled her head onto Draco’s chest and murmured, “Water.” Draco handed her the glass from the bedside table and she gulped it down without coming up for air. She sighed. “Nursing is hard work. I am so tired.”

“Oh, no, you do not get to bail out right now,” Draco teased. He pulled lightly on one of Hermione’s curls that hadn’t been tangled into the mess.

“His given names?” Narcissa pressed.

“His surnames represent both his parents, so we decided his second name would be of the Black family. I named him after the most courageous man I could think of in your family tree, Mother.”

“Name him,” she demanded.

“Regulus,” Hermione revealed.

“Hmm...” Lady Malfoy did not feel the need to give voice to her thoughts for quite some time. Eventually she admitted, “That is a bold choice. It means ‘prince,’ a royal name for worthy blood. I approve.”

“Thank God for that,” Draco said with a wide smile. It was the name they had been most worried about after all. Hermione took one of his hands in her own as if to say, “I told you she’d see reason.”

“And the name he shall be called by those who love him?” Mrs. Granger asked.

“That was where we struggled the most,” Draco admitted.

“For Merlin’s sake, Draco!” Narcissa said.

“Crixus.”

Narcissa got a confused look on her face. She closed her eyes as if searching through memories.

“That is Gaulish,” she finally said. Draco nodded.

“Hermione and I agreed his name should come from the land of both Malfoy and Black. We also believed it should be a name from times long before the segregation of blood and it must be a Muggle name. This child will be a fighter, just like his mother,” Hermione grumbled her appreciation, “so we named him after a warrior.”

“Crixus Regulus Malfoy-Granger,” Hermione’s mother said. “I pity him for every form he will sign throughout his life.”

“Indeed,” Draco said. “If Hermione and I have another child we agreed to name him after Hermione’s father and be done with it.”

Narcissa and Mr. Granger laughed.

He said, “While I appreciate the thought, it would be a tad strange introducing my extended family. Narcissa, Draco, Hermione, Scorpius, Crixus, and … John.”

**.oOo.**

Blaise and Dean arrived with Scorpius the next morning. Hermione felt much better and Crixus was asleep when they walked in. Dean was smiling so hard Hermione thought his face might split in two. Blaise gave Hermione a hug and presented her with a fork and a small box of sliced mangoes.

“I love you,” she said, devouring them.

“I actually made them for Scorp but he would not eat much. Too nervous, I think,” Blaise admitted. He leaned over to see Crixus in the bassinette.

“I love him already,” Dean admitted. “Is that weird?”

“A bit,” Draco said from the doorway. Scorpius reached out toward Hermione so Hannah propped her up on some pillows as Draco put their oldest son down on her lap. Scorp reached for Hermione’s stomach and felt that it was smaller. He looked up and said,

“Poof!”

Everyone laughed.

“Yeah, Scorp,” Hermione made a disappearing motion with her hands and repeated, “poof!” She glanced over to Dean and asked, “Will you hand him to me, please?”

Dean delicately raised Crixus out of the bassinette, careful not to wake him. He placed Crixus in Hermione’s arms and Scorp crawled up to get a better look. He delicately wrapped one tiny hand over the top of Crixus’s head and placed the other on top of the blanket. He smiled and said,

“Bruzzer!”

“Yeah, Scorp, a little brother,” Hermione said, her smile even wider than Dean’s. She added, “Crixus.”

Scorpius leaned forward and pressed a delicate kiss to his brother’s forehead.

“Criss-ush.”


	38. June 2010

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I love you so much, Hermione Granger, and the best gift you have ever given me is the knowledge that you love me in equal measure."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place from June 5th - 11th, 2010.

They got the letter on Draco’s thirtieth birthday.

Queenie Picquery would be released from MACUSA custody in less than a week: June 11th, 2010. They spent the day as normally as possible. Scorpius was newly four, and he looked more like his father with each passing year. He still climbed all over the furniture, though it was more precarious as time went on since he had the habit of jumping off the stairs. Eventually, they bought him a broom to keep him occupied.

Crixus was different; he had Draco’s blond hair but Hermione’s tight curls and a round nose. (Scorp’s was more slim and pointy.) Crixus also loved to read. At least, he made his parents think he had that capability. He read books aloud to them at bedtime instead of them reading the books to him. They were gobsmacked for months until they realized he wasn’t actually reading. He simply memorized the words he heard and when to turn the page.

“I want to be angry, but it is so bloody brilliant I just want to throw him a party,” Draco admitted.

They argued about the letter after both the kids were in bed.

“We have to go!” Draco insisted.

“No, we very much do not,” Hermione countered. “You may have forgotten, but she tried to kill me!”

“And Potter tried to kill me! No one tried to throw him in fucking Azkaban!”

“Because you were a bloody prick at the time who had been trying to kill Headmaster Dumbledore!” Hermione shouted back.

“So you agree that context is key?” Draco asked.

“Of course,” Hermione insisted, realizing her mistake only a second too late.

“Then you agree that she was in a poor state of mind due to the influence of everyone around her, being pulled into something she had little means to escape. If she left, Jason would kill her. Hermione, Queenie was me. She was in over her head and trying to survive. She did more than me—she killed the man perpetrating all the harm when it became clear that was the right thing to do! Context matters and if I deserved a second chance then so does Queenie.”

“Do not equate yourself to her!” Hermione insisted. “You are better! You have changed—”

“And who is to say she hasn’t?” Draco asked.

“It matters little! She enabled the deaths of dozens of people!”

“I nearly killed Weasley by sending the poisoned mead,” Draco pointed out. “Nearly killed Katie Bell with the cursed amulet. I facilitated the Death Eaters entering Hogwarts which resulted in the permanent disfigurement of Bill Weasley and the death of Albus Dumbledore! Need I continue, Hermione?!”

She sighed and admitted, “No.”

“Queenie has no one else” Draco said. “She has no one but an entire country ready to vilify her. Hermione, I know exactly what that feels like, and she is not as lucky as I am.”

“Lucky?” Hermione asked. “How d’you mean?”

“She doesn’t have you,” Draco replied. Hermione ground her teeth together because well, that was a kind thing to say and a valid point.

“Fine,” she begrudgingly agreed. “But I am only going because I love you and this is important to you.”

Draco kissed her on the cheek and said, “After my trial I had Blaise and my friends and my mother, for a time. I do not want her to think she is entirely alone in the world, so you are right, it is important to me. And I want you to be there because Queenie needs to see that even people like us can be happy if we choose to do right by the people we wronged and the people we love.”

**.oOo.**

There are advantages to being the boss, namely approving your own vacation the day before it happens. Draco left Scorp and Crixus with Blaise and Dean for the week. All the preparations were made and Hermione would make her first journey to New York and she was anxious as hell. She started packing the moment she got back to the manor that evening, tossing her Healer robe on the bed and grabbing the biggest case she could find.

“How was work?” Draco asked from their bedroom doorway.

“Fanbloodytastic,” Hermione answered as she tossed the case onto their bed. “As always. I love my job and you know I love my job and yet you insist on dragging me away from my job and my children to go gallivanting off to New York City just to … Oh, fuck it. I’m upset because I thought we would get a real vacation. One to an island somewhere where no one knows our names and we can just sit and read and shag and, I dunno, maybe figure out a way to do both at the same time.” Draco laughed and Hermione insisted, “We’re smart enough.”

“I do not think we need a vacation for that. Hell, we could try right now if you get your bloody clothes packed,” he teased.

“Not after what happened with Tippy,” Hermione insisted. She shuddered at the memory. “That was mortifying.”

“Somewhere between seeing you in that lingerie and tossing you onto the bed I probably should have locked the door but it slipped my mind. You are very distracting when you aren’t wearing clothes,” Draco countered.

“Yes, well, after four years I have learned I am the pragmatic one in this relationship.”

“One of the many things I love about you,” Draco replied with a smile. “Not one of the top ten, of course, but still one of many.”

Hermione laughed and asked, “Tell me the top ten, then?”

“I was rather hoping you would ask!” he replied, excited. “Number ten: your tits.”

“Why are they only number ten?” Hermione jokingly chided him.

“It should show how important the rest of the list is to me,” he teased.

“Alright, number nine then!” Hermione demanded.

“I love your ferocity,” Draco said. “You never do things halfway, and you always seem to sort of shout your existence to the world. You are relentless and I admire that. It is one of the things that will make you a great Minister.”

“Well, a supportive boyfriend always helps things,” Hermione replied. She began folding her dresses and placing them in the case.

“Number eight on the list is that you always listen to my ramblings about baseball. A sport you have never laid eyes on, and yet … You still listen.”

“I listen because you like to talk about it,” Hermione replied. “You also use it to speak in metaphors and if I don’t understand the sport I can’t always understand what you are trying to tell me. Number seven?”

“I love that you let me be the fun parent,” Draco admitted. “When Scorp and Crixus get older they will hear about what I did during the war. I am terrified of what they will think of me after that.”

“Perhaps we should tell them first,” Hermione suggested. She had enough dresses and decided to begin work on the trousers.

“A decision for another day,” Draco countered. “But you allowing me to be the more engaged parent, the more hands-on it-is-alright-that-you-flew-too-high-and-fell-we-won’t-tell-your-mother parent gives me hope that they will not judge me so quickly once they learn of my … misdeeds.”

“A fair point, but that is just the sort of parent you are,” Hermione replied. Draco fell back onto the edge of their bed and sighed.

“The sixth-best thing I love about you is that you are absolutely determined to convince me to free all my elves.”

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“You can afford to do so and it would send an epic signal to the rest of the Wizarding world that house-elves are not to be treated as slaves. Each creature with a soul is of equal worth! One day you will fall to reason, Draco Malfoy.”

“You will live to try another day, Granger,” Draco teased. Hermione threw a wadded-up pair of socks at him. “Are you curious to know the top half of my list?”

“Is my arse included?” she asked.

“I am afraid not,” Draco said. He walked up and slapped her bum before kissing her cheek. “Does not mean I don’t love it, though.” Hermione continued rolling trousers and stuffing them into the case. “The fifth thing I love about you is that you forgave me for all the harm I caused you.”

Hermione’s hands froze.

“That is only number five?” she asked.

“Yes, because everything above it has to do with who you are at your core. You chose to forgive me because of my actions. I chose to be a good person and you chose to trust that I would remain true to that decision.”

“And you have proven me right,” Hermione insisted. She wrapped her arms around Draco’s waist. “I am sorry I don’t have an itemized list of things I love about you.”

“You do not have time to make a list,” Draco teased. He pushed her away and said, “Keep packing. I finished mine hours ago and I take ages longer than you.”

“Being Healer-in-Charge is a busy life, especially when you are about to take a weeklong vacation to America.” Hermione sighed and tossed in a pair of trainers. “Tell me about number four.”

“Ah, yes, number four: your unflinching pursuit of what you believe is right. I love that because you and I are not so different in this regard. You always believe your actions are justified if they are in pursuit of a larger goal for the common good. It can be a rather Slytherin quality and I find it sort of sexy.”

“Sort of sexy?” Hermione asked.

“Immensely,” Draco teased. “I meant immensely sexy. The thought of justice really puts me in the mood.” Hermione laughed. “Number three is the look of intense concentration when your nose is buried in a book.”

Hermione’s eyebrows nearly disappeared into her hairline as she asked, “You like that?”

“I do,” Draco admitted. “It reminds me of what you were like as a kid. I was always trying to best you in class and could never manage it, always just one step behind you. But it is not so bad, you know, being in the presence of generational greatness every day. I would rather support you in your efforts than continue to try and fail to outdo them. Anyway, when you are reading your eyes get really wide and you scrunch your nose up when you have to reread a paragraph. I find it adorable.”

Hermione didn’t have any reply to that. She felt her cheeks go pink and focused all her attention on arranging things in the case so she didn’t need to use an Extending Charm. Draco’s ability to deliver words of love without a hint of insecurity was one of the things Hermione would include on her own top-ten list.

“The second-best thing about you is that your love overpowers a blood bond of even the Darkest magic. That is how I know our love is true, Hermione. A curse cast by Voldemort himself is undone by the love of a Muggle-born. The reason I can feel your touch where I cannot feel anything else is because of all the things I have already listed: your love and forgiveness. I love you so much, Hermione Granger, and the best gift you have ever given me is the knowledge that you love me in equal measure.”

“I do,” Hermione insisted. “And you deserve it. Our family is the most important thing to me just as it is to you.” She haphazardly tossed in some blouses and said, “I’m done.”

“You have one more item to pack,” Draco said.

“No, I think I have everyth—” Hermione turned to face him and her heart nearly jumped out of her ribcage. Draco was down on one knee, offering up a ring. She pressed a hand to her mouth to quiet her incessant mumbling of, _Oh my God! Oh my God! Is this happening?_

“The thing I love most about you is that you look at my scars and see the man beneath them, not the boy I was when I received them. Hermione Jean Granger, you have given me a family, you have given me hope, and you continue to give me more love than I deserve. As selfish as it is, I want you to keep doing all that for as long as we live. Will you marry me?”

Hermione stared at him for several moments. Her hand finally fell from her mouth and she said,

“It has been so long I assumed you were never going to ask.”

“That was the point,” Draco admitted. “No one expects us to take this path anymore so there is no reason for you to say yes other than you want to spend the rest of your life with me. But I want you to, Hermione, I want desperately for you to say yes. I promised I would not pressure you into it, but I love you so much and every time I see you with Scorp and Crixus I just think of how goddamn lucky I am—”

“Yes.”

“—and I want to be by your side for the rest of your life. I want to be there when you find the cure for Dragon Pox and when you get elected Minister. I want you to retire from the Ministry after three amazing decades so we can spend our old age together laughing at how stupid and phenomenal our kids are, and how much better they are than Potter’s kids. Except for Scorp, because he will probably be married to Potter’s kid. When you do all these remarkable things I want you to look over at me and think, ‘There is no one I would rather have at my side right now.’”

“Yes,” Hermione repeated.

“And—wait, oh my God, did you just say yes?” he asked.

Hermione nodded and repeated, “Yes.”

Draco stayed on his knee for a couple seconds, processing her answer. Then he jumped up and pulled Hermione into a hug. She smiled and said,

“Yes, as long as you never stop believing in me.”

“Never.”

Draco kissed her quickly before sliding the ring onto the fourth finger of her left hand. Hermione glanced down to get a better look. It was a pear-shaped emerald with a diamond halo, about the same size as the ruby on her right hand.

“Blood segregation in my family began with Nicholas Malfoy,” Draco explained. “This is the ring he gave to his wife and I thought it would be ironic and a nice way to fuck him from the grave if I were to give it to you.”

“Beautiful and spiteful,” Hermione smiled, “I love it.”

“Well, it is also one of our smaller pieces and I know you would not like things on your hands that may interfere with your work, so—”

Hermione pulled him down into a kiss. They snogged like that for a moment, like their first kiss all over again. It was simple and nice until Draco’s fingers found their way beneath Hermione’s blouse and he started counting up her ribcage.

“You’re so thoughtful,” she said, a little breathless. “You say you are lucky to have me, but I am just as fortunate to have you.”

Draco smiled and teased, “You did not need to say that. I was going to shag you anyway but I accept the compliment.”

“Well, everyone is away …” Hermione said lecherously. “And you know what that means.”

Draco replied, “No reason to lock the door.”

**.oOo.**

They waited outside MACUSA headquarters on June 11th. Draco was nervous. He did not say anything aloud to give Hermione that impression, but some things never change. Ruffling anxiously through his hair and cracking his knuckles every time his mind wandered were clue enough.

Queenie walked out of the doors at noon. Her curls were longer and tangled, but it was definitely Queenie Picquery. She caught sight of Draco and ran down the steps before pulling Draco into a tight hug.

“They said somebody was here to see me, but I never thought it’d be you!”

Draco wrapped his arms tight around her shoulders and Hermione fiddled with her engagement ring.

“Of course it is me,” he said. “We are friends, Queenie, and friends get second chances.”

“I don’t deserve one,” she insisted. “But I’m not gonna kick it to the curb, either.” She pulled back and wiped her eyes. She turned to Hermione and asked, “And you brought your girlfriend?”

“Fiancée,” Draco corrected. Hermione held up her hand to show Queenie the ring. Whatever Hermione expected, it certainly wasn’t a hug.

“Oh, God, you really are gonna get your real family, aren’t you?!” Queenie asked. “I am so sorry we nearly took it away from you. You both deserve happiness and I just … I’m so fucking happy you’re gonna get it.”

She stepped back and Hermione took the time to really look at her. Her hair was limp and probably hadn’t been conditioned in years, but otherwise she looked much better than expected. There was colour in her cheeks and no circles beneath her eyes. She smiled and it was genuine. Hermione had never seen this side to Queenie Picquery before and immediately understood how Draco befriended her.

“You look excellent, considering … everything,” Hermione said. Queenie beamed.

“Of course! I have been looking forward to this day. It is the first real freedom I’ve had in fifteen years.”

_Wow._

Queenie took stock of their outfits: Yankees jerseys, jeans, and ballcaps.

“Are you trying to blend in?”

“Actually, Hermione and I were just about to catch a game,” Draco said.

“Oh,” Queenie said, remorseful. “Well, have fun. It is the best place in the city.”

Hermione held up a plastic bag and said, “We have three seats.” Queenie’s eyes widened as she hesitantly took the bag and looked inside. She squealed.

“NO WAY!”

“Look, Queenie,” Draco said. “No one wants you to be free. You are going to spend every waking moment earning the world’s trust again. You can have every war hero vouch for you and, trust me on this, it will not be enough. People will be absolute shit to you and you have to take it sometimes because that is the price of your actions. But at the end of the day, you are free and I am your friend. So I want to give you at least one good day.”

Queenie cried. Not subtle, small tears trailing their way down her face. This was ugly, uncontrollable sobbing. Her face became red and splotchy as she sat down on the steps, plastic bag in hand. She pulled out the navy ballcap to hide her face.

“I don’t deserve it, Draco. I can’t believe y-you came all the way over here just to take me to a fucking baseball game,” she said with a hiccup.

“I came here to help my friend,” Draco said. “I brought Hermione because you need to see that you are worthy of more love than Jace ever gave you. If I can earn her trust then you can get the love you deserve, too.”


	39. Marry Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wedding of the century.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter takes place in 2010.

“Six months?!” Narcissa shouted. “This will be the most important wedding of the century—of the next millennium! And you are giving me six months?!”

“I thought a Christmas wedding would be nice …” Hermione trailed off.

“Hermione’s just trying to save my arse,” Draco said. “I wanted to get married yesterday. Mother, I waited so long to propose I am very much ready to be married. If I still had the Time-Turner I’d go back to November of 2006 so we could be married four extra years.”

Hermione wanted to say, “Aaw!”but her heart got stuck in her throat. Lady Malfoy’s expression softened. She began writing down ideas on a scrap piece of parchment and said,

“Fine. I did Blaise and Dean’s in four hours; I can do yours in six months.”

**.oOo.**

Hermione invited Harry over to the manor shortly after that conversation, the day she and Draco announced their engagement in the _Prophet_. Harry was never completely at ease and Hermione couldn’t blame him. Though, neither could she pinpoint when it stopped feeling like Malfoy Manor and started feeling like home. She took him out to the gardens and stared at the fountain. Harry waited patiently until she spoke.

“Draco and I will not be having a typical ceremony.”

“Wouldn’t suit the two of you anyway,” Harry teased. Hermione playfully whacked his arm.

“Everyone has their ushers and bridesmaids, best man and chief bridesmaid … And, um, we don’t really need all those people. I’d have to choose between so many people I’d have seventeen bridesmaids and half of them men!” Hermione said.

Harry laughed.

“So you came to a compromise?”

“Yes,” Hermione admitted. “We decided to have witnesses instead.”

“Like a bloody crime scene,” Harry sniggered. Hermione slapped him again. “Yes, yes, go on, then.”

“One witness for each of us. No fussing about with multiple people, just the person we trust most in the whole world at our sides while we do this incredibly ridiculous thing. Naturally, Draco chose Theo—”

“Not Blaise?” Harry asked, stunned. Hermione laughed.

“A few years ago I would have felt the same. However, this is about who we trust. You have to remember, Blaise left Draco then wouldn’t take him in once Lucius Malfoy … Did what he did.”

Harry anxiously kicked at the dirt and said, “No one talks about it, you know. It must have been awful.”

“Honestly? They still won’t tell me what happened,” Hermione admitted. “That is how painful it is for him, and for his friends as well. I can piece it together, of course. Draco’s said enough, but Theo was the only person willing to take him in after that. It started me thinking, if everyone I love abandoned me, who would be the one person left when the dust settles?”

Harry looked up at her, anxious to hear the answer.

“It’s you, Harry,” she said, a bit miffed he didn’t get there before she had to say it aloud. “You are my best friend, of course it’s you!”

“Oh,” he said. “Well, I just … Erm, I don’t really know what to say.”

“You could start with, ‘Oh, Hermione, I’m flattered and of course I’ll do it!’” she suggested.

“Hermione, I am flattered and I will definitely do it!” Harry said, pulling her into a hug. “I thought you’d choose Gin or someone … Someone who’s always been more supportive of this relationship than I have.”

“That’s what makes you right,” Hermione insisted. “You want what’s best for me and eventually you saw that was Draco, it just took you some time to get there. From the troll in the dungeons to me marrying Draco fucking Malfoy … Would you have believed it?”

“Never,” Harry admitted. “Would you?”

“Hell no,” Hermione laughed.

**.oOo.**

Christmas Eve, 2010.

Hermione’s hands were shaking. She couldn’t make them stop but clasped them tightly against her chest to try.

“Last question,” Parvati said, putting her quill down. “How are you feeling?”

“Is that from the magazine or from you?” Hermione asked.

“That one’s from me.”

Hermione rubbed her palms over her knees and admitted, “Like I may vomit. I’m not nervous about getting married because being the person Draco depends on is nothing new. I have loved him and our family for a long time, but there are so many people here. Draco’s the sort of person who will shout his feelings for the world to hear and I am very much not.”

“You’ll be great, Hermione,” Parvati insisted. “Remember when I interviewed the two of you for the first time?” Hermione nodded. “You took him aside and convinced him to open up because it’s what you needed. And you are about to do the same for him. You will show the entire Wizarding world the power of forgiveness; that love can come out of the darkest times.”

“That’s good” Hermione said. “You should use that.”

“Probably will,” Parvati replied. “He is impossible right now, by the way. He was tapping his toes during the entire interview. I was half-convinced he would drag you out to the altar half-dressed and demand Lee Jordan pronounce you married immediately.” She and Hermione laughed. Parvati hugged Hermione, said, “Congratulations!” then left to take her seat. Once her mother had finished her hair, Hermione let her face fall into her hands.

“I am so happy for you, Hermione,” Mrs. Granger said. She gave her daughter a quick hug before saying, “I’ll send the girls in now.” She left, swiftly replaced by Ginny, Pansy, and Romilda. Ginny immediately went to work on Hermione’s makeup.

It was mostly silent while Ginny directed Hermione to look up or tilt her head to the side. Pansy and Romilda were busy carefully de-wrinkling Hermione’s enormous cape. Once finished, Ginny hugged her for several seconds. She pulled back but kept her hands on Hermione’s shoulders.

“I told you Option A would work, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did,” Hermione said with a shy smile.

“I never doubted it; the two of you have such a unique bond,” Ginny insisted. “And he may well faint when he sees you in that dress, so … be patient with him.” Hermione covered Ginny’s hands with her own.

“I invited some of my primary school classmates who used to make fun of me. I wanted to rub their noses in the fact that I landed one of the best-looking men in Europe. Is that completely terrible of me?”

Ginny laughed and said, “No, it’s only partially terrible. You do realize you’re about to violate the Statute of Secrecy like seventy times, right?”

“What are they going to do?” Hermione asked. “Arrest me? Arrest my husband? Not bloody likely. I am so fucking nervous, Ginny. So nervous, I might forget my vows. I only remember half of them right now.”

“As long as you remember ‘I love you’ and ‘I do,’ I think you’re all set,” Ginny replied. She left and Hermione walked over to her dress. She slipped it off the hanger, unzipped it, and stepped inside. Romilda quickly came over to zip it up in the back. Hermione glanced at herself in the mirror and sighed. It was … elaborate. The bodice had a rather deep V, covered in snowflake embroidery that wove into elegant straps. Pansy had crafted a unique tulle/sequin net for the skirt and it really was a beautiful dress.

“Are you ready for the cape?” Pansy asked. Romilda nodded and led Hermione over toward the door. They spread the cape out behind her and attached it to the straps of her dress with silver dragon-shaped clasps.

“I do think that was a nice touch,” Romilda said.

“Thank you!” Pansy smiled. “This was the most fun I’ve ever had designing a dress. Of course they’ll be printing pictures of the thing for a few centuries, so no pressure …”

“Yeah, no pressure,” Hermione repeated, suddenly a little woozy.

“Whoa there,” Romilda said, wrapping an arm around Hermione’s waist. “You gonna make it to the altar?”

“Yeah,” Hermione shook her head. “Yeah, I am, I want to get married. I’ve wanted to be married for years and it’s finally here and I just … This is quite the dress.”

“You hate it,” Pansy guessed.

“This is a dress for a queen,” Hermione countered, “and I’m not that.”

“Yes you are,” Romilda countered. “Muggle world or Wizarding world, you’ve never taken anyone seriously who tried to keep you down. Not even the man you are about to marry.”

“What Romi’s trying to say is this dress isn’t for you; it is for the six hundred people out in the gardens waiting to see you,” said Pansy. Hermione grit her teeth and looked at herself in the mirror. The cape had a monarch train with thousands of tiny white and silver gemstones along the hem that glinted in the light when Hermione moved.

“It’s missing something,” Hermione said.

Narcissa walked into the room with a large black box between her hands and said, “I agree.” Hermione jumped. She never quite got used to Narcissa’s timing. Lady Malfoy opened the box to reveal a tiara that struck Hermione as vaguely familiar. It had large pearls in the middle and they wrapped around the crown, gradually decreasing in size as they progressed toward each end. Between the two layers of pearls was a cascade of pretzel-shaped diamonds, and each of the lower set was housed in its own u-shaped diamond halo. It was a perfect complement to Hermione’s wedding dress.  Romilda looked like she may pass out. She leaned forward to touch it and asked,

“Is it real? Of course it’s bloody real, how did you get this?”

“My grandfather bought it from Princess Zinaida after the revolution,” Narcissa said. “While I have never had occasion to wear it, I believe it belongs to Hermione today.” She took the tiara from the box and placed it atop Hermione’s head. It was heavier than she anticipated, forcing Hermione to keep her chin up and shoulders back. She turned to look at herself one final time and smiled.

“Queen for a day?” she asked.

“For as long as you both shall live,” Lady Malfoy countered. The three of them disappeared and Hermione cherished her last moments alone. She took a deep breath and thought about the past four years. Her anxiety disappeared because it had all been leading to this moment, from the very second Blaise put Scorpius on her doorstep she was destined to end up marrying Draco Malfoy.

She walked out of the room to see her father waiting at the door to the gardens. He turned to see her and immediately went misty-eyed.

“Oh, honey, you look gorgeous!” He pulled her into a hug and Hermione returned it.

“Careful of the cape—Pansy will kill me if there are any wrinkles.”

“Oh, sod the wrinkles, I am so happy I finally get to walk you down the aisle. You know, there were years your mother and I thought you would shut us out of this moment and I am so happy you didn’t.”

“Me too, Dad,” Hermione whispered. “Me too.”

Mr. Granger wiped his eyes and said, “Okay, well, everyone knows this wedding isn’t exactly traditional. However, I do not think your former classmates are quite prepared for, well … What do you plan to tell them?”

“The truth.” Hermione smiled and said, “It’s magic.”

Mr. Granger nodded and the doors opened to reveal five metres of freedom before she made a left turn onto the aisle. Hermione kept her breathing steady and looped her arm through her father’s.

“Alright, honey, we can go as slowly as you like.”

Narcissa Malfoy had planned the perfect wedding for Blaise and Dean in four hours. In six months, she had created the perfect winter wedding space in the manor gardens for a wedding that would change the course of history. Hermione entered through a silver gate and six hundred people stood up to look at her.

She was on the verge of panic. Seeing six hundred people and feeling twelve hundred eyes on her was almost too much. Her father patted her arm and said,

“It’s time. Are you ready?”

“I’ve been ready for years,” Hermione admitted. The aisle looked like ice but it had been bewitched to prevent her from slipping. The Muggle-born pianist for the Weird Sisters agreed to play the ceremony. When Hermione arrived, the opening chords of “Sweet Child o’ Mine” wafted through the garden. She stepped onto the aisle and short white flames shot up from the edge of the ice. The people in the back-most row of chairs jumped in surprise. Hermione smiled. She noticed the group of her Muggle classmates in the left section with stunned expressions. Mr. Battlehunt was there as well and offered Hermione a small smile, and Trisha was nearby.

She stepped forward and flames erupted from the aisle along the next row and proceeded to light the aisle as she moved forward. She caught sight of Queenie Picquery on Draco’s side, trying to blend in toward the back. Every Slytherin she knew was in Draco’s part of the crowd, with a not-insignificant portion of Pureblood society. Hermione smiled at them and waved, laughing at the pinched expression on their faces. Draco’s front row included his mother, Blaise and Dean, Tracey Davis, Sebastien and Scarlett, Scorpius, Pansy and Katie Bell.

They were about halfway down the aisle by then, some in the audience bopping their head along to the familiar tune, but everyone kept staring. Hermione took a deep breath and her father held her tighter. She noticed Draco cracking his knuckles up by the altar. Theo was whispering to him and Hermione hoped it was encouraging. Hermione chanced a glance up toward her own front row. Her parents were there, of course, along with Romilda, Ginny, Angelina, Crixus, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, then Ron and Alicia rounding out the end. Minister Shacklebolt was in the second row along the aisle.

Hermione glanced up at Harry who was smiling at her. Hermione smiled back, relieved she was close enough to see his face. Just looking at Harry calmed her. They’d survived a war together, they could get through this ceremony. Draco’s morning suit looked wonderful, a black to contrast her white gown but he also wore a silver vest and accoutrements. At his fitting he said, “The only thing wrong with these Muggle clothes is that the coat is so long you cannot see how fantastic my bum looks in these trousers.”

She laughed at the memory and realized they had reached the stairs in front of the altar. Scorp and Crixus got up from their chairs to hold the end of her train, just like they practiced. Mr. Granger helped Hermione up onto the steps as her sons lifted the fabric so it would not get caught behind her.

There were many moments in her life that Hermione would consider amazing. Scorpius’s first steps would come to mind. As should Draco getting down on one knee to propose and her seeing Crixus for the first time. However, when Draco finally turned to look at her on their wedding day, his soft smile was the most breathtaking thing Hermione had ever seen. He gave her the once-over and said,

“This is how I see you every day. I am happy that today everyone else gets to see you as I do.”

Hermione placed a hand over her heart to make sure it was still beating. Then Crixus ran to Draco shouting, “DADDY!” and everyone laughed. Draco picked him up and hurried down the steps to pull Mr. Granger into a tight hug.

“Thank you so much,” he said. Draco didn’t specify what he was thankful for, but Mr. Granger seemed to understand.

“You’re welcome, son. Now hurry up and marry my daughter before I change my mind,” he teased. Draco laughed and knelt to put Crixus back on the ground. The music ceased as he ran back to his seat; Draco gave Scorp a high-five before he did the same. Hermione exhaled heavily when Draco leapt back up to her side, reconsidering her decision not to have a bouquet as her fingers were dancing along the seams of her dress. She smiled up at Draco before turning her attention to Lee Jordan.

“Are you both ready?” he asked. They nodded and suddenly his voice was projected throughout the garden. “Welcome! Family, friends, other random guests most of us have never seen before … We are gathered together to witness the union of Hermione Jean Granger and Draco Black Malfoy. To those of you who only know one of these parties, let me begin by saying how lucky you were not to go to school with them.” He paused for a few seconds as a couple hundred people chuckled. “Hermione, the brightest woman the world has seen since Maeve herself, constantly at odds with Draco, the most pretentious arsehole this side of the Atlantic.”

“Still had better hair than you,” Draco mumbled. That elicited even more laughter and Hermione began to relax. She was tempted to grab Draco’s hand but reminded herself: not yet.

“Everyone wants love and friendship, but most of us hesitate to look for it in unexpected places. Neither of these people believed they would find love here in Malfoy Manor, much less in each other. Their story is not one of love at first sight, but rather of something … _Unexpected_.”

Hermione took Draco’s hand and the flames lining the aisle shot forward, eliciting gasps from the crowd. The fire converged into two single licks that began chasing each other around their clasped hands. Hermione trembled as her anxiety returned, having just violated the Statute of Secrecy in front of the Minister himself. LJ smiled and Draco squeezed his fingers slightly around Hermione’s to calm her.

“I quote now from First Peter, chapter four: ‘Above all, love each other deeply because love covers a multitude of sins.’ That is the true story of Draco and Hermione. The story of a woman who saw a frightened boy where everyone else saw a criminal. That boy worked to become a better person, someone who, when he was finally given the freedom of choice, chose to fight for the Light instead of the Darkness. Then Hermione saw a man worthy of forgiveness, worthy of love. Hermione was the only person confident enough in herself and her assessment of the man Draco Malfoy had become to trust that they could build a family together. I am filled with pride to be even one small part of the amazing community they have made.”

Hermione nodded to herself, crying. She used her left hand to wipe beneath her eyes.

“Their story began nineteen years ago when they boarded the same train to the same school where they would become very different people. Today is not the beginning of anything, but rather a celebration and an affirmation of the love they have for each other.”

LJ then pulled out his wand and waved it at the flames circling Hermione and Draco’s clasped hands. The flames shot toward his wand, curled in on themselves, and formed a bright white puff of smoke. LJ lifted his wand and levitated it as the smoke transitioned into a cloud. Everyone watched as it traveled higher and higher, thirty feet in the air before LJ tapped his wand as though he was pouring salt from a shaker.

Then it began to snow. The crowd “ooh”ed and “aah”ed as the snowflakes vanished a metre above their heads, like they were in a reversed snow globe. LJ stuffed his wand in his pocket.

“Draco and Hermione, the vows you are about to exchange serve as a verbal representation of what is already in your hearts. Family, friends, and distinguished guests, this ceremony is the public recognition of a commitment Draco and Hermione have already made privately to each other. By inviting you to bear witness to their vows this day, they have allowed you to see a love that only comes around once a century. Draco, please tell us all what you will promise to Hermione as you bind yourselves together in this union.”

Draco turned to face Hermione and she looked up at him, nervous. Her stomach had shrunk to the size of a chickpea. Draco took one of her hands in his own and started rubbing circles over the back of her hand with his thumb.

“Throughout my life I have continued to push people away. Whether by action or inaction, people turned from me as parts of my life fell apart. The only person to remain with me through it all stands with me now, a brother in every way that matters.” Theo stepped forward to pat on the shoulder. “I pushed you away too, Hermione. After everything that had happened between us, you found it in your heart to trust me anyway. I took advantage of that, kept you at a distance for fear that you would leave me, too, and you did. But the thing that makes you different, the thing that makes you exceptional is that you came back. You decided I was important enough to return and no one had done that before.”

Hermione swallowed thickly and her heart was racing. If this was just the beginning she may drown in her own tears by the time Draco finished.

“Over the years I learned to forgive, I grabbed the broken pieces of my life and forced them back together but it was never enough. I tried for so long to become the person my father wanted me to be, but you taught me that family isn’t about blood. Family is the people in your life who are there when you need them, the people who support you and your life, your goals, even to the detriment of their own.

“You upended your life to care for my son when I could not. You forgave me for all the harm I caused you and your friends. You defended me to those very friends because you saw some goodness in me that everyone else had missed. So I promise to be here when you need me and I vow to always support you in pursuit of your goals, unless you try to cook because we all know you will never succeed at that.”

Draco paused because Hermione laughed along with their audience.

“I will dedicate my life to you and the family you have given me. The only thing I want is to see all of you happy. For so long there was a chasm of a sort where my heart should be and you filled it with everything. Yes, I get angry with you and sometimes I doubt that I am worthy of my place in your life—”

“Never doubt that,” Hermione insisted, shaking her head. “Never doubt that you belong at my side.”

“Then you say things like that to remind me you are a remarkable woman who would never keep someone in her life that does not belong there,” Draco admitted. “I will spend the rest of my life making sure I have earned my place in yours. Hermione Jean Granger, you have given me two amazing sons and have proven a little forgiveness can change one person or it can change the world. Thank you for choosing me.”

Draco pressed a kiss to the back of Hermione’s hand and she used the other to wipe beneath her eyes.

“Shit, I knew I shouldn’t have let you go first.”

Everyone laughed and Draco smiled. Hermione took a deep breath and tried to remember everything she wanted to say.

“I, um, I never have been quite as eloquent as you in these matters,” Hermione began. Draco nodded in agreement. “You always have understood your heart better than I’ve understood mine. You aren’t afraid of emotions, you embrace them, use them to better yourself. That is the one power I am never going to have. I deal in the rational, I deal in one leads to two leads to three. You see a world coloured by emotion and I need that.”

Hermione took another deep breath to slow down her speech. Her hands were trembling again.

“You returned my name to me,” she said. Draco raised an eyebrow so Hermione said, “I mean to say that everyone else always saw their version of me instead of who I actually am. A hero? A bookworm? A Healer? Know-it-all? Sure, I may be all of those things, but I am never just one of them to you. You see all of me, you see Hermione and that is why I opened up. Once I did, I was able to recognize so much more of you, too. You are funny and gorgeous and you really do feel things so deeply, I was envious of that until I realized I had that capacity within myself all along. I just had to trust you.

“You never make me feel as though my success is a burden. Our triumphs are shared just like our sorrows. There is no one I would rather have by my side in times of celebration or in times of tragedy. Both of us are far too well-versed in that last one anyway. We have two amazing sons and there is no one in the world I would rather have built this family with than you. I do not have the strength to go through life on my own, to fulfill my goals and reach the extent of my ambition. It would not be possible without you to guide me. I vow to love you as long as we live. I promise never to shut you out of my head or my heart and I promise to cherish every moment we have with our family. You earned my forgiveness and I will spend the rest of my life working toward a future where blood is no longer an impediment to kindness. Our love will change the world, Draco Malfoy.”

“It already has,” he replied.

“Fucking hell, you guys,” LJ whispered, wiping his own eyes. He shook his head and got back into the service.

“I am so glad I got married before you,” Harry whispered. “I would never have been able to say anything comparable to that.”

Hermione glanced out to the crowd to see their parents sobbing into handkerchiefs. Most of the crowd was dabbing at their eyes. Hermione smiled and laughed. They had said all this out loud at one point or another over the past four years, today was simply they day they put it all together.

“Now we have heard your spoken vows, but words can be carried away with a light breeze. You have also made visible offerings to each other in the form of rings. Theo, please hand Draco the ring he will give to Hermione.” Theo waved his hand and the ring appeared in his palm. Draco turned to grab it before taking Hermione’s left hand. LJ said, “Draco, as you place the ring on Hermione’s finger, please repeat after me. ‘I give you this ring to wear as a symbol of my abiding love.’”

“I give you this ring to wear as a symbol of my abiding love,” Draco said.

“Take it as a symbol of my eternal faith in you and my undying devotion to our family.” Draco repeated the words, looking Hermione in the eyes all the while. She thought she may well faint. Those same grey eyes had shown up on her doorstep four-and-a-half years earlier and changed her life. LJ gave Draco the last part of the vow and he repeated,

“You have both my everlasting friendship and the promise of all my tomorrows.”

Draco placed the ring on Hermione’s finger and she had to stop herself from jumping up and down with happiness. She looked down at it and smiled so hard her face could well have broken in two.

“Harry, please hand Hermione the ring she will give to Draco.”

Harry waved his hand and Draco’s ring appeared in his palm. Hermione took it and, without waiting for Lee Jordan’s permission, said,

“I give you this ring to wear as a symbol of my abiding love. Take it as a symbol of my eternal faith in you and my undying devotion to our family. You have both my everlasting friendship and the promise of all my tomorrows.”

“Well, okay then,” LJ said, taken aback. “May the vows and promises you have made today be as ever-present in your hearts as these rings are on your fingers. Draco, do you promise to take Hermione as your wife, to remain faithful to this covenant you have made for as long as you both shall live?”

“I do,” Draco insisted. He twined his fingers with Hermione’s and smiled, aware they were seconds away from a moment two decades in the making.

“Hermione, do you promise to take Draco as your husband, to remain faithful to this covenant you have made for as long as you both shall live?”

“I do,” she said.

“Then by the power vested in me, I pronounce you married in the eyes of the law and the eyes of God. Now, to friends and family gathered to celebrate this union, it is my honest pleasure to join Draco Black Malfoy and Hermione Jean Granger in holy matrimony.”

LJ stopped and fiddled with the parchment in his hands. Draco cleared his throat and Lee Jordan playfully refused to look up from his notes. Draco said,

“LJ, you forgot the fun bit.”

“Oh,” Lee Jordan replied with a teasing smile. “Yeah, of course, Hermione, feel free to snog your husband.”

She didn’t need to be told twice. Hermione jumped up, threw her arms around Draco’s shoulders, and kissed him. Draco held her by the waist and Hermione doesn’t have any recollection of that moment, lost in all the excitement. However, Draco’s smile afterward when he put her back on the ground was the moment she realized she was married. She had the urge to Disapparate from the manor and Apparate back in just to test it. Their audience applauded, but it was nothing more than a dull noise in the background.

“I cannot believe you married me,” Draco admitted. Hermione wiped his tears away with her thumbs.

She replied, “I honestly can’t believe I waited this long.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for reading and coming along this ridiculous journey with me over the past ten months. ♥


	40. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JusticeForYadi gave me two guidelines for this fic. 1) Scorpius winds up on Hermione's doorstep. 2) Blaise is the one who left him there. Me, being completely insane, turned that tiny prompt into this fic. I cannot overstate how grateful I am that y'all took a chance and have made it all the way to the end.

August 31st, 2017.

Hermione sat cross-legged on the end of Scorp’s bed with her son a mirror image at the head. He looked almost exactly like Draco did at age eleven, but there were subtle differences. Mostly that Scorp was happy. He didn’t have Draco’s trademark sneer, but rather a curious smile as his default expression. At that moment, though, he had his legs pulled up to his chest and face pressed into the space between his knees.

“I am scared for tomorrow,” he admitted.

“Why?” Hermione asked. She teased him by saying, “You know if anyone bothers you, just tell them your mum is the Minister and I can throw them in Azkaban.”

“Not for me,” Scorpius insisted. “Al said he is scared he will be Sorted into Slytherin.”

“Where do you want to be?” Hermione asked.

“I … I don’t know, Mum,” he grumbled, still unwilling to lift his head. “But I know where Al ends up because I Saw it. Does it make me a bad friend if I don’t tell him he is placed in Slytherin?”

“No, honey,” Hermione said. “Not at all. Can I tell you Hogwarts’s biggest secret?”

Scorpius looked up then, desperate for something to make him feel less beholden to Al’s future.

“Houses are stupid,” Hermione said. Scorpius was not satisfied.

“Can I tell you my secret?”

“You can tell me anything, honey. Always remember that.”

Scorpius nodded and said, “I don’t want to be a Slytherin. I want to be in Ravenclaw with the smart people.”

“Do you think I am stupid?” Hermione asked. Scorpius shook his head. “Do you think your father is stupid?” He shook his head again. “Then why would you think the smartest people only go to Ravenclaw?”

“Because Al said that is what Jay told him,” Scorp admitted. “Al would not lie to me.”

“But Jay would absolutely lie to his little brother,” Hermione replied with a chuckle.

“Mum, I like him a lot.”

“Jay?” Hermione asked, confused.

“No, Al!” Scorpius said. He grabbed a pillow to hold and channel his nervous energy.

“Well, he is very cute,” Hermione said. “Green eyes, dark hair, I see how you fancy him.”

“I don’t think he will ever like me back,” Scorp admitted. “So I want to be in his House, but then I don’t and I don’t know what to do. You and Dad were in separate Houses and you got married—”

“No,” Hermione held up her hand and repeated, “no. I hope you end up loving someone as much as your father and I love each other. And I do think that may be Al. He is family and I think you’re wrong, I think once Al determines if he wants your friendship to become something more the two of you will be inseparable and insufferable.” They both laughed. “But your father and I went through so much pain to get where we are and I will do everything I can to make sure you never have to feel that.”

Scorp looked away.

“It doesn’t matter. It cannot be him; no one meets their soulmate when they are six months old.”

“You’re right, they don’t,” Hermione replied. She tilted Scorp’s chin up to say, “And Malfoys don’t marry Muggle-borns and babies aren’t left on doorsteps.”

Scorpius sniffled and tears fell from his eyes.

“I don’t know what to do.”

“I won’t tell you what to do, Scorp. You decide what to do with your visions.”

“But—”

“But Houses mean nothing. You are not choosing your abilities, Scorp, you are choosing the people you want to be around. Maybe you’re right that Al will never like you the way you like him, and perhaps you won’t always feel this way about him. That means right now you need to stop looking into the future.”

“That is so hard!” Scorpius whined.

“Who is your best friend?” Hermione asked.

Scorpius responded, “Al,” without hesitation.

“Then when you go up to get Sorted, you have to ask yourself do you want to be in Ravenclaw or do you want to spend the next seven years with your best friend?”

Scorpius didn’t say anything for a few minutes. Suddenly, he tossed his pillow to the floor and crawled to the end of the bed to hug Hermione.

“I am so happy you’re my mum.”

The next morning, Scorpius clung to Hermione on the platform until the Potters arrived. They said their good-byes, Scorp grabbed Al’s hand and rushed him over to one of the middle cars. They were hardly taller than the trunks knocking against the ground behind them. White smoke filtered out from the chimney of the scarlet steam engine. It surprised Hermione, the nostalgia that hit her when she saw the golden lettering on the side reading “ _Hogwarts Express.”_

It was difficult to see anything through the dense vapour. Crixus stood between Hermione and Harry, trading chocolate frog cards with Lily. Draco had Mira balanced against his hip, their relation apparent since they had the exact same shade of white-blond hair. Mira had his cheekbones and his trickster smile, but she had Hermione’s wide brown eyes. Hermione allowed her mind to wander to next year when Ron and Alicia would join them with Rose. What an oddly fulfilling moment that would be.

“I am worried for Al,” Harry admitted. “He’s so quiet and, erm, without Scorpius I’m not sure he’ll be able to make friends.”

“Oh, stop,” Ginny chastised him. “Al will be fine. He’s just an introvert.”

“I doubt your son and my son will end up in the same House, Potter,” Draco said. “Though, I am grateful they are such good friends.”

“Pretty sure Al wants to be more than best mates,” Harry revealed. Draco and Ginny groaned but Hermione smiled to herself. They spotted Victoire and Teddy in the rear car, snogging near one of the windows. Jay and Molls popped out of one window, before Dominque pulled Jay down to stick her own head out. Scorp and Al were the last ones to appear, waving at their parents, grouped together a car-and-a-half down the platform.

“What if they aren’t in the same House?” Ginny asked.

“They will be,” Hermione confidently replied.

Harry asked, “How can you be certain?”

Hermione waved to their kids and said, “Because I know my son.”

The train began to move and their kids’ heads vanished back into the car, one by one. Al was the last to leave, nervously smiling at his parents until Scorpius pulled on his trouser leg. Hermione took Draco’s hand in her own, twining their fingers together. They watched until the Hogwarts Express disappeared entirely beyond the horizon, and all was well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good-bye for now! ♥ You can follow me on [Tumblr, ](http://www.queenofstarkness.tumblr.com) [ Twitter, ](http://www.twitter.com/HighStarkSunday) and [ Instagram ](http://www.instagram.com/HighStarkSunday).
> 
> ******
> 
> I do have more Dramione works in progress. The first of which is my [12 Days of Ficmas](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1181090) series, then I will have a 15/20 chapter Dramione AU in the new year!
> 
> ******
> 
> I had the idea to create a Scorpius-centred sequel but I don’t have the time. However, I did have plans and this is how I ended the universe:
> 
> Your favourite pharmacist, Bastien, ends up marrying Padma. She is amazing and Hermione's Senior Undersecretary. Romilda revolutionizes wizarding fashion. She and LJ do not work out, but she is Mira’s godmother. Romi tutors all the Malfoy children in math until they go off to Hogwarts.
> 
> Mira's full name is Mira Jacquelyn Malfoy-Granger. In addition to being another Spartacus reference, Mira is a star to keep to Black tradition. They also wanted to give her Mr. Granger's name, so Jack became Jacquelyn. Mira is Sorted into Ravenclaw and gets further in Arithmancy than any student in the history of Hogwarts. Math is her strongsuit and she is crap at Defense Against the Dark Arts. She kicks butt at Quidditch and is obsessed with sports. She uses her math acumen to move to America and become a sabermetrician because Draco imparted his love of baseball. Later she will write her own Arithmancy textbook that is used at Wizarding schools around the world. She marries the son of Viktor Krum.
> 
> Draco denies he has favourites, but Mira is his favourite child. She has the benefit of being the first Malfoy girl in several centuries. Hermione is closest to Scorp, and Crixus is literally everyone else's favourite.
> 
> Crixus is suave, dates a lot, and is very fashionable. Blaise gifts him Twilfitt and Tattings when he graduates Hogwarts. His best class is Charms and he is Sorted into Slytherin.
> 
> Blaise and Dean adopt a seven-year-old boy from Italy after his grandmother/caretaker dies. Blaise holds no ill will toward Draco choosing Theo to be part of his wedding ceremony. Dean's Quidditch supply company becomes the gold standard in Quidditch supplies throughout Europe. Blaise eventually has seven restaurants in England, France, and Italy.
> 
> Pansy designs every important Wizarding outfit for the next forty years, including the dress robes for the Malfoy-Potter wedding.
> 
> Trisha heads up the Maeve Ward until Hermione is elected Minister, at which point she becomes Chief Healer. She also inducts Crixus into her underground Butterbeer ring and sends him packages of the stuff to sell on the DL at Hogwarts.
> 
> Scorpius refers to Albus as "Alex," a hangover from the days when he couldn't pronounce some consonants in the middle of words. (He had to learn to pronounce "x" because of Crixus.) Al prefers Alex and changes his name immediately when he turns seventeen. He drops his middle name altogether. This is a point of contention between him and Harry for several years. Ron and Hermione never admit they are the ones who convinced him to drop Severus.
> 
> Scorp and Al end up in Slytherin together. Al kisses him for the first time behind the stands at the Quidditch pitch after Scorpius wins the open Chaser spot in their third year. They break up and date other people at various points, but get married at age 21. Scorp dedicates his life to abolishing the Statue of Secrecy and reintegrating the Muggle world with the Wizarding World. Al actually starts his own SPEW-like organization.
> 
> Narcissa never remarries. She dies at age sixty-five and Draco turns to Mr. Granger in grief because he's the closest thing Draco has to a father figure. After one nasty fight with Hermione, Draco tells Mr. Granger he is more of a father to him than Lucius ever was. Mr. Granger is very torn up by Narcissa's death, as they were the closest of friends. (He never once entertained the notion of cheating on Abby, though.) 
> 
> The Grangers are very proud of all four of their grandchildren. They consider Blaise and Dean their unofficially adopted sons.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and criticism are always appreciated!!


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